


Impervious

by Mysdrym



Series: Impervious [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Dark Humor, Horde, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 231,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysdrym/pseuds/Mysdrym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Wren and Sethyl answer a guild recruitment letter, they are thrown into the chaotic world of Impervious, a Horde raiding guild filled with people who seem less interested in saving the world and more so in furthering their own agendas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impervious

**Author's Note:**

> I have tried to find an accurate time line that says how long after the formation of the Horde the forsaken joined and then how long after that before the elves joined, but all of the time lines I've come across are rather vague on such points. For the purposes of my story, it took the forsaken almost a year after the plague was unleashed before they organized enough to catch the attention of the Horde, and then it was another 2 and a half years from that before the elves joined.
> 
> Death knights joined the Horde and Alliance somewhere in between those points. This fic starts 5 months after the sin'dorei became Horde and is originally set in BC, though it will move through to Wrath.

Wren Duskflame stood in the doorway, peering into the alchemy and herbs shop with mild disappointment. The shop, Whisper's Vials, didn't look like anything spectacular. The showroom was lined with shelves, all covered with flasks and vials, as with any other alchemy shop. Near the back was an open doorway leading into a small laboratory, and on the right stood a glass counter containing different types of herbs. The counter had a large gap in the middle, leading to a closed door.

Wren glanced around, debating whether he ought to just go ahead in, or wait outside for the owner to come back. After all, his note had been very specific that he come to this shop on this day, so why would the sender direct him to an empty store? The alchemy lab was silent, making it doubtful that anyone was in there. His gaze returned to the door. Perhaps the owner was just beyond wherever that led?

A few passing guards inspected him with mild suspicion, and he decided that just walking into the shop and checking that door would probably prove a bad idea. It was his first hour in Orgrimmar, and he didn't want the grunts pegging him as a thief or degenerate.

Figuring that the door must lead to the next shop over—a small, orcish run engineering workshop—Wren turned to see if perhaps the owner were in there instead. As he headed the few short yards down the street, a sudden gust of wind sent sand sweeping up into his eyes and throat. Instantly, he was doubled over, coughing to get the grit from his lungs. As he straightened back up, his blonde hair fell over his shoulders, and he made a mental note to warn any other sin'dorei who might be interested in coming to the orcish capital to watch out for such sand flurries.

As he headed to the entrance of the engineering shop, he redid his ponytail, though he frowned as soon as he looked into the dimly lit store. The orcish engineers were eyeing him as though he were acting strangely. Hadn't they ever seen someone fix their hair before? To add to his unease, there was no door in this shop that would have connected it to Whisper's Vials.

Subconsciously bringing his hand up to his leather vest pocket to assure himself that the note he'd received was still there, Wren's frown deepened. It had been the oddest thing. One day, while staying late on the archery range, an elf he had never met before had hopped the gate and walked right up to him with an unmarked envelope. Even as Wren had torn it open and skimmed over the page, the courier had disappeared.

The note had been oddly vague and specific in one. Specific in the wheres and whens and even the why: he was being invited to try out for a guild named Impervious. However, it hadn't said anything about the how or who. It didn't reference who ran the guild, who the shopkeeper he was to meet would be, or even who the sender was. For all he knew, each _who_ could have been a different person.

Even with so many details missing, he hadn't been able to help but acquiesce. Namely because of the mystique surrounding the simple piece of paper.

While the guild was named, the letter's mysterious delivery simply screamed Anonymous, the most famous guild of the Horde, which supposedly allowed only the most elite entry. They'd downed easily over half a dozen major threats to Azeroth, and that was just the known ones.

Despite their notoriety, however, they remained, as their name implied, anonymous. No one had ever seen their faces. As a result, they'd developed into somewhat of a modern legend. They could be anyone. They were rumored to be the strongest of the Horde, debatably the world. They had the best information network in the history of Azeroth, with connections in every faction, be they major players or not, and if they wanted to get in touch with you, they could quite easily.

Supposedly, if one caught wind of a problem, one need only drop a note dictated to Anonymous in a mailbox—any mailbox—and they would get it. Sometimes they would even respond. Though the envelope would supposedly be blank, the letter would always somehow end up where it was meant to be.

Needless to say, most of what he'd heard had to be mere myth. Perhaps the guild had even spread the rumors themselves. However, when he'd received that note, he couldn't help but wonder if Impervious was somehow related to Anonymous. To further add to the mystery, it didn't say how they'd scouted him, merely that they had, and they were impressed.

Thus, with little more than curiosity as his motivation, he'd headed to Orgrimmar.

While he paced back to the entrance of Whisper's Vials, he considered heading off, since it was still empty. However, the allure of the unknown overrode his disappointment and suspicion that perhaps this had been some sort of prank.

Perhaps the owner wouldn't mind if he waited in the shop for their return. If any guards asked, he would just tell them the truth. Just as Wren was about to head in and take a seat to wait for the owner at a little table near the laboratory room in the back, he was startled by what sounded like the swish of a tail.

…Which was followed by what sounded like a sharp, sucked in breath. Even as he narrowed his eyes and inspected the shop more carefully, a voice interrupted his scrutiny.

"Are you going to stand there all day?"

Wren turned to see another elf standing a few feet behind him. The man had spiked his brown hair so that his ears just barely poked out above it. Like Wren, he had a simple rucksack—the note had explicitly stressed he travel light—but this elf had plate armor as opposed to leather. Wren frowned, shifting his bag into his bow and jerking as it bumped into his ear. The other elf smirked, seeming to think him incompetent.

Fucking paladins.

As a farstrider, Wren knew he shouldn't pick any fights with a blood knight, even if he did think the man a condescending prick. The sin'dorei hadn't been members of the Horde for long, and they didn't need a simple brawl making it harder for them to get along with their new allies by making themselves look un-unified.

The paladin was losing his patience.

Wren motioned toward the shop, forgetting the noises he'd just heard. "Don't see your rush. No one's in there."

The paladin frowned and stalked up beside him. As he peered in, he gave Wren a look of mild disgust before pushing past him. "Nice try."

Wren turned and followed him in, surprised as he looked past the paladin to see that the shop was no longer empty. A tauren woman stood behind the counter, her tail swishing back and forth slowly as she ran a dust rag carefully over a few vials.

Had she come from that door? He hadn't heard the door open or her hooves as they clopped against the stone...and he could hear people whispering almost four buildings down. One of the problems with Orgrimmar. Everything was so much closer together than in Silvermoon. Of course, the orcs probably didn't expect to be allied with elves when they were building their home and thus hadn't considered that elven hearing would practically rewrite their concepts of privacy. Well, their privacy was still fairly intact, seeing as there were _so many_ noises in such small spaces that it made it a bit hard to concentrate...perhaps the reason he'd missed any signs of the tauren before?

The paladin had already walked up to her, leaving Wren to fend for himself. She paused in her cleaning as the brunette elf cleared his throat and then gave her a flourished bow.

"Hail stranger," he began. He rustled through his bag, before pulling out a note. Wren's eye twitched. There was no way he wouldn't have had that somewhere he could easily reach it...was there really such a need for pageantry? It was not like a damn cow would find him charming or endearing. The tauren seemed to note Wren's presence for a moment, but her eyes never quite left the elf in front of her. The paladin held his note out. "I received instruction to meet the owner of this shop about a guild interview..."

"Well, that would be me," she crossed her arms slowly, crinkling the leather of her shirt. Wren had been rather preoccupied with his newly acquainted adversary when he had to bite back a laugh. He hadn't realized tauren could actually be spotted, and the honey colored patches of fur along the lady owner's arms made him imagine cows grazing in a pasture.

Not to say he'd ever seen real cows before...just a few polymorphed elves. Some of the magisters were rather creative with their spells from time to time.

He forced a smile as the shopkeeper noticed his movement and stepped forward, easily pulling out his own note. "I, too, received an invitation. My name is Wren Duskflame."

"And I," the paladin said, quick to regain their hostess's attention, "am Sethyl Sunblade."

The tauren gave them a curtsy, her mane slipping over her shoulders as she dipped down. "Whisper Windsong, at your service." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Though I'm not sure that I can be of much help."

"What?" Sethyl demanded before she could explain herself.

Whisper ran her hand over her mane once and smiled apologetically. "Please don't be upset, but I'm afraid a certain turn of events left all guild recruitment on hold."

Both elves paused, intrigued. At length, Wren had to ask, "What happened?"

"The guild leaders were called away at the last minute, and I've no clue when they'll return."

~"~

A flailing tentacle-like vine slammed down into the earth in front of Gorgon Hellsblood, though he didn't bother to move or even flinch. He already knew he was out of range of the strange monster.

Gore—as most everyone knew him—had served Thrall for all of his free life. He had risen to be a commander under the warchief, his main priority keeping Orgrimmar safe. While his job could be demanding—when the Alliance dogs dared to try and trespass into the city—he was not alone in his endeavors and was, every so often, given time to himself. These days, never more than four or five together, were never used for idle relaxation. It was a fool's notion to think any orc worth his salt would waste such precious time in such a manner. On the contrary, Gore used his free time to travel Azeroth, investigating what might be growing threats to the Horde.

It was such a quest which had brought him to the northern parts of the Stonetalon Mountains. However, he was beginning to think that this was more and more a waste of time. Something about the whole affair seemed off. The worst of which being that he couldn't seem to get a hold of his wife back in Orgrimmar. Sham was, in a word, his strength, and if he returned home to find anything had happened to her, there would be hell.

Thoughts of threats aside, Gore ran his hand over his face as he watched two of his guild mates swing through the air, held up by the massive tentacles that they had come to investigate. The first, a larger-than-most green troll rogue who went simply by Haa'aji, had been the one to come to him with this problem. There were reports of strange vines growing from the ground and attacking people. According to the rogue, a Horde outpost would be in imminent danger, should they not deal with the problem.

How was it, then, that they'd had to skirt around a nearby Alliance town just to get here? There were no Horde establishments of any kind for miles.

As the orc let his hand fall back to his side, he stared up at the two and frowned. Haa'aji looked like he was trying to have a bad time, though he wasn't succeeding. The rogue always had fun when things went wrong...to the point that it could be a danger to group with him. If a delivery through Alliance territory was going too well, he was known to head to the nearest settlement and blatantly steal from their enemies, just to get the creatures' guard up. While he at times drove other guild members to threaten to quit, he was one of—if not _the_ —best at gathering information and that made him invaluable to the guild...so long as you could keep his attention.

Knowing this, Gore had had little reason to doubt the troll when he came to him with this threat.

The other guild member being held hostage by the strange tentacles was an elf, Liila Dragonlily. Since she had joined the guild, joined the Horde, really, she had often shown her displeasure with any decision or situation by dropping any indication that she was capable of expressions or emotions. Her latest void tantrum, as Haa'aji called such moods, had lasted almost five months now...basically since the sin'dorei had officially been invited into the Horde. While some joked she didn't like having to share her Horde with other elves, Gore hadn't been able to get her to confirm or deny the joke.

To go with her utterly blank look, she spoke in perfect monotone during her tantrums. As a result, it was somewhat unnerving to keep company with her during her mood swings, even if she was a priest. As with any other day in the last few months, Gore couldn't tell if she was upset with her current predicament or just life in general. Her shoulder length white-blonde hair hid her ears as the tentacle held her upside down, her feet just barely poking out above the monster's grip.

A raspy, withered sigh caught Gore's attention, and he looked to his side to see that Gregor Smithson had taken a seat on the ground, propping his head up so that he could watch the rest of their party as they flipped through the air. Gregor and he co-led the guild, though everyone always joked that Sham was the real leader.

Gore's frown deepened as he thought again of his wife. He pulled a small glowing stone from his pocket and checked to see if it had chimed, indicating that Sham had tried to contact him. It had not.

Gregor drummed what was left of his fingers against one of his knees as he watched their guild mates with a look of pure annoyance. "We should just leave them."

Gore ran a hand over his graying hair, and swung his axe down so that he could lean against its shaft. Haa'aji and Liila were somewhat the trouble makers of the guild...well, really it was just Haa'aji, though Liila liked to keep his company. While Gregor was usually a patient man, he had picked up on the same sense of wasted time that was nagging Gore, and as a result, he was easily ready to leave the village idiot to fend for himself. Liila would be fine as well and, while she was loathe to do so, could heal the two of them if it really came down to it. Gore forced a smile as he looked down at his rotting, old friend. "It doesn't matter where you leave them...they'd still find their way back to Orgrimmar."

"Yes, well, forgive me for thinking we should teach them a lesson for running ahead of the tank," Gregor muttered. He'd already strapped his shield to his back and sheathed his sword. He didn't understand it. His family was living, safe from the plague, in Stormwind, where he would never see them again. So why was it he was always having to play the father figure and get the _children_ to behave? "I'm done with these two idiots for the day."

Haa'aji let out a cry as the tentacle holding him flipped him through the air, and another one caught him. Unlike Liila, his hair maintained its sweptback shape, with sideburns still facing forward. Gore didn't waste time pondering the troll's resistance to gravity, though, for as Haa'aji became the world's largest hacky sack, a terrible ruckus came from behind him.

The orc swung up his axe and whirled about in time to see a raptor crash down through the woods to stop a few yards short of the two warriors.

Another troll swung off the raptor as a second dinosaur ran up, this one lacking the feathers and decorations of a mount. Ta'lim Bonesplitter sauntered up to his guild leaders, offering them a quick wave. A few braids of dark blue hair fell over his slouched shoulders as he came to a stop, and he paused to eye the situation before shaking his head and motioning toward the east.

"Da ting controllin' dis mess seem ta be hidin' ova yonda."

Just as Gregor muttered something about finishing with this lunacy, Gore shook his head and looked around again. Everything seemed too easy, too perfect. He couldn't keep his suspicions to himself any longer. "This doesn't feel right. I don't understand who called us out here. If anything, this seems like it would be a problem for the Night Elves, not the Horde."

As Gregor and Ta'lim gave him questioning looks, both Liila and Haa'aji's attention snapped toward the orc, unconcerned with their tormentors. Haa'aji got an arm loose and waved frantically for Ta'lim's attention as the troll furrowed his brow and shook his head.

Ta'lim, a loyal guild member, was often one of the ones to help bail Haa'aji out of whatever he'd gotten himself into. While Gregor might be content to let them fend for themselves at this point, the hunter couldn't see letting either Haa'aji or Liila get hurt. After all, a guild was like a family. As Haa'aji kept at his frantic motions, Ta'lim forced himself to dismiss it. He'd save those two in a moment. Gore wasn't making any sense, and he wanted to figure this out first.

"Watcha be talkin' bout?" Ta'lim stretched up and rested his pole arm across his shoulders. "Haa'aji been sayin' Sham sent us hea ta mend de spirits."

Gore was still for a very long, quiet moment. Even the tentacles seemed to grow silent as though to allow the orc time to examine the pieces of the puzzle and see that he'd been given the wrong picture.

There was no way in the void his wife had sent them on this mission without him knowing. He turned to slowly look back at the two being held in the air, and they instantly found reasons to give their attention elsewhere.

Ta'lim shrugged and scratched his chin slowly. "I taught it be weird ya wanted ta go trekkin' tru da wildaness, what wit de invites been given out alreadeh." He patted his raptor as it trotted up next to him and eyed the tentacles, which had resumed their flailing. "But I not gun ta be arguin' wit Sham."

"Invites..." Gregor's voice trailed off before he smacked one of his palms against his forehead. His shaggy hair fluttered lifelessly from the force of the motion as he shot to his feet. "Those idiots." He paused and looked at Gore before heading back up the slope, to where they had left their mounts. "I thought we agreed to keep the guild interviews a secret."

Gore followed, even as Ta'lim pointed over his shoulder and asked what to do about the other two. "We did."

"Then how did they find out about it?" Gregor paused and looked at Ta'lim. "How did _you_ find out about it?"

Ta'lim cocked his head. "E'rybody be knowin' ya recruitin' some elves for da guild." He paused. "Somethin' ta do wit 'equal representation'?"

"It be a status quo, mon!"

The three turned to see Haa'aji struggling to break free. "Dun be le'in dem leave! We dun be needin' no damned panseh elves in de guild!"

Gregor scowled and pointed accusingly at Liila. "Dragonlily's a damn elf!"

As if on cue, the tentacle righted the small creature, and she stared blankly down at her guild leaders. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the swooshing of the slithery limbs. "I be a troll, mon."

"Damn straight!" Haa'aji yelled, managing to free both arms. He cursed again as he realized that both of his daggers were somewhere in the underbrush below.

Gregor let out a few hissing expletives as he turned his back to them and picked up his pace. Gore joined him, pausing only to look at Ta'lim. "Stay and help, or leave them. At this point, I don't care. But if I find out you were involved in this, too..." He didn't need to finish his threat. Ta'lim gave them a quick salute, but hung back.

It wasn't until the two guild leaders had a decent head start back to Orgrimmar that Liila and Haa'aji managed to free themselves. Ta'lim stood waiting for them, having gathered their raptor mounts ahead of time. While he would never abandon them, he doubted his guild leaders would want Haa'aji running to the nearest Alliance outpost today. Thus, he'd decided to give the duo time to save themselves, and free them only if they really seemed to need it.

He sat picking his teeth and rifling through his bags for a loaf of bread as Haa'aji slammed into the ground. Liila descended slowly through the air to come to hover just above the grasses beside him.

"Oh, nah t'anks Liila. Ah nah be needin' nah lev a nuttin..." Haa'aji muttered. Liila simply shrugged and walked through the air to her raptor. Unlike the trolls' mounts, hers looked as feral as Ta'lim's pet.

The hunter eyed the two, watching Haa'aji stealth and go back for his weapons. "So...it still be takin' a few days ta get ta Org from hea. Ya tink it be time enough for dem elves ta get bored 'n leave?"

Liila shrugged again, swinging up onto her mount. "I have no idea."

Haa'aji reappeared, grinning as he flipped his daggers into the air and then sheathed them. "It be cool, mon. We got a two-pronged attack, yeh? Dey can' be making no decisions 'til Sham get back."

~"~

Mitchell Ohara frowned as he realized he'd completely picked out the hem of his sleeve. Despite the straps crisscrossing his face and covering the hollows where his eyes should have been, he saw just fine—something that had always baffled Shadow Deathsrain, the tauren death knight riding beside him.

Shadow glanced down at the nervous mage, the undead's frown contagious. "Stop it or she'll figure out that something's wrong."

Mitchell's skeletal fingers dropped his sleeve abruptly, and he looked about, desperate for something casual and non-incriminating to focus on instead. At length, he cast a wary glance over his shoulder. A few yards behind them, Sham was riding along, speaking with Khai'rhi Bonesplitter, Ta'lim's older sister. The two seemed lost in talk about the elements and different ideas for totems they'd been researching.

Mitchell shivered and looked ahead. "I keep thinking that I'll look back and see her fire elemental coming for us."

While Sham was a quiet orcess, once she was pushed over the edge, things tended to get a little crazy. That's not to say such things happened often. In fact, Mitchell had only ever seen Sham summon her elemental once, and that had been because Haa'aji had tricks-of-the-traded Ragnaros to her. Even so, once he knew that she was capable of snapping, Mitchell always had a foreboding fear that something might set her off again.

Like leading her on a bogus journey through Feralas.

"She'd have to go elemental for that," Shadow muttered, patting Mitchell on the head, who in turn scowled as the tauren flattened his Mohawk.

As Mitchell re-spiked his hair, he shuddered. "I told her there was a re-infestation in Dire Maul. What are we gonna do when we get there and there's nothing there? Tell her it's the squirrels that are plotting against us?"

Shadow rolled one of his shoulders slowly. At first, he reached up to hold his weapon for a while, as it was starting to weigh down on his back, but stopped. While he might have been better at containing any paranoia that their pseudo guild leader might go ballistic on them, he didn't want to draw her attention by drawing his weapon. Thus, he let the ache in his shoulder continue. "We could always say that we guessed the Alliance took care of it."

"She specifically asked me if we had any idea if the Alliance was planning on dealing with this. I said no."

"Then I guess I can get separated from the group and raise a few Shen'dralar."

Mitchell shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Doesn't it feel a little weird, though? Trying to keep elves out of the guild?"

With a sigh, Shadow paused to tuck a low hanging vine up over a branch. He didn't want Sham and Khai'rhi yelling at him again for damaging the plants. "I don't care that they're elves. I care that if they join, Haa'aji will throw a temper tantrum the likes of which we've never seen. Anything we cherish will be stolen, the guild vault will be emptied, and he'll be in the wind." The tauren shook his head. "I think he would've joined the Alliance when the sin'dorei joined us, if he could have."

Mitchell fumbled through his pack and pulled out a needle and some thread, determined to fix his sleeve, lest he start in on the other one. "What does he have against the elves, anyway?"

"No clue," Shadow shrugged and watched a small snake slither across their path. "I heard a rumor though, that he's not actually a Darkspear."

"Oh?"

"Genji was saying he's a runaway Amani. That would explain the hostility toward the elves, I think."

"He's too scrawny to be an Amani, isn't he?" Mitchell couldn't help but wonder out loud, though he supposed Haa'aji could have been the runt of the tribe...or whatever. And the troll was greener than most any other Darkspear, though the mage had never given it much thought.

"Just saying what I heard," Shadow shrugged, deciding not to point out that, "small" as Haa'aji was, he was the largest of the trolls in their guild and that he could still easily break Mitchell in half.

Mitchell bit off the thread and tugged at his sleeve to make sure it would hold until he could properly re-sew it, dropped the needle and spool back into his bag, and flipped the satchel shut. "It still doesn't make sense. He's like best friends with Liila."

"Life's full of mysteries."

"Ah give ya a myst'reh."

The two stilled, subconsciously jerking their mounts to a halt before turning slowly to see that Sham and Khai'rhi had caught up. Khai'rhi was holding a small, glowing stone in one of her hands with the other one on her hip as she glared up at Shadow and then down at Mitchell. "Explain ta me how Sham hea lost ha guild stone." When both men shrugged, her eyes flickered red for a moment. "A'ight, den. Explain why me brudda jus' called to say de guild leadas been trekkin' tru Stonetalon on sum fake expedition."

Mitchell and Shadow both donned deer-in-the-headlights expressions, but said nothing.

Khai'rhi wagged a finger at them. "Ah tink, ya be tryin' da same stuff on Sham. Ah tink, ya be tryin' ta keep ha outta touch wit ha husband, so dat ya lot can sabotage de guild intaviews."

Sham blinked, looking from Khai'rhi to the overly guilt riddled duo. Her braid swung back and forth against her back as she furrowed her eyebrows. "The two of you would really stoop this low?" When neither answered, Sham crossed her arms slowly. "Who are you more afraid of? Haa'aji? Or me?"

Shadow nudged Mitchell and nearly sent him flying off his mount and into the underbrush. "I think the lady needs a port."

As the forsaken cast with a speed which none had previously thought possible, Khai'rhi addressed Sham, her voice thick with disgust. "Ah tink ya should be takin' dea guild stones. So dat dey can' be warnin' nahbodeh." She flashed another angry stare in their direction as a portal to Orgrimmar blinked into existence. "Ya know it ain' jus' dem involved."

However, even as Sham shook her head and said that she doubted taking the guild stones away from them would actually be a good idea, both culprits vanished into the portal, not waiting to make sure the others would make it through.

~"~

Whisper had just offered both elves tea at a little table near the back of the shop when the trio heard a soft ping. With a quick smile to them, Whisper reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glowing stone. Runes flashed over it quickly before fading out. While neither elf could see what they'd said, Whisper abruptly snapped to her feet, her hooves making dull clacking noises against the stone floor.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but I forgot that I have to pick up some herbs from one of my suppliers. I'm afraid I'm going to have to close shop early. Perhaps you would like to come by tomorrow to see if anyone has arrived by then...?"

While Sethyl seemed more than a little annoyed, Wren stood up and politely nodded. "Sure...is there any time that would be best?"

Whisper was throwing a few belongings from behind the counter into a sack, and the elves couldn't help but wonder why she would need so many potions and flasks of water when she was just going to pick up some herbs. "Um...I think about one would probably be best. If I'm not back, one of my guild mates should have opened shop by then."

She stood expectantly by the door and hurriedly ushered the two out. "There's an inn, close to the entry gates. I'm sure they'll have room for you two." She locked the door behind her and gave them a quick smile before practically bolting down the street. "Good luck."

Whisper didn't wait to see if the elves would take her advice, instead making a beeline to the other, closer inn. As she entered, she located two warlocks sitting at a table in a corner, playing cards. The first one to see her was Timmons Burlaste, the only guild member to never remove his hood or helm for anyone at any time. The forsaken turned toward her, and his hood bobbed once as he acknowledged her presence. "Well met, shaman."

"Yeah, yeah. I need a summons stone for Liila and Haa'aji." Whisper barely took in a breath before adding, "And I know you've been messing with the invisibility potions again. Mine gave out while the elves were standing right there."

The other warlock was Enlyhn Bloodfist. He was probably the only orc she knew who didn't have any type of scar on his body. He ran his fingers over his less impressive Mohawk—in comparison to Mitchell's— before laying a few cards on the table, and laughing. As Timmons' lips dipped down at the corners, the orc looked over at Whisper. "This is why you should just ban him from the shop."

"Very funny," Timmons muttered and flipped a few deep purple shards across the table to the other warlock.

Whisper ignored him and dropped into an empty chair at the table. "Timmons, c'mon. You owe me this. Honestly, you owe Liila and Haa'aji this, too, since it was their plan you ruined."

The forsaken scooted his chair back and stood up. "...Fine."

Enlyhn slipped the shards into a small pouch, pausing to examine one. "Really? You're not going to try to get..." He squinted, and a figure's wailing face appeared behind the glass for a moment. "Whitemane back?"

Timmons merely shrugged. "Always another day, another game."

Whisper stared from one warlock to the other, but said nothing as she slowly rose to her feet and followed Timmons out into the open. As Enlyhn tailed them, Whisper glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "I don't need two..."

"You should help us summon more. Takes three to call the stone," Timmons muttered and began to cast.

~"~

Ta'lim stared at the space where Liila and Haa'aji had been for a long moment before it finally dawned on him that he wasn't getting a summons as well. It no doubt had to do with his alerting his sister with what was going on, but then, they didn't have to live with her. He would rather have Haa'aji mad at him than Khai'rhi any day.

With a sigh and a curse, the troll ducked his head low to his mount and started a quick pace back to Orgrimmar.


	2. Killing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've messed with the levels of things, so don't be surprised if they go from a mild challenge in Stonetalon to fighting Kael'thas.

"Jus' sayin', mon." Haa'aji shrugged as he propped his feet up on a table in the Sprogworks Tavern in Booty Bay and shook his head toward his fellow guild mates. They were currently in hiding after their plans to keep their guild from gaining any new members had backfired so spectacularly. Even knowing that Gore would be back to work guarding Orgrimmar by now, they still froze every time someone lumbered into the tavern, half expecting an infuriated guild leader to have hunted them down. Besides, Sham and Gregor weren't held back by any day jobs, so it could happen, couldn't it?

And honestly, after their first dozen drinks, none of them were really sure whether it hadn't happened _already_. They could practically hear Sham snapping at them in their heads, calling them idiots and children, telling them that they ought to act like the warriors of the Horde that they were. Inebriated, it was hard to say if such comments were from their imaginations or memory.

Haa'aji seemed to be the only one of them who wasn't still in a mild panic—the longer they went without being confronted, the worse their anxiety became; were their guild leaders biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

The rogue, however, was much more acquainted with their leaders' fury. As a result, he was less concerned with what might be coming his way. After all, he could just vanish if the going got tough. He tipped his mug back and took a long drink before whacking Mitchell on the shoulder and continuing his thought. "Shoulda backhanded dat bi—"

"And what? Not get any heals when we raid?" Mitchell scoffed, his words just slightly slurring as the alcohol finally took hold. Mitchell had barely been seventeen when he'd succumbed to the plague, and as a result, his voice always had a childish tone to it. Further, he seemed to be eternally damned to having a lower alcohol tolerance than everyone else—which could be fun when trying to persuade him to do things, like sheep Garrosh—though some argued that such things had nothing to do with age.

"Liila be healin' ya next raid." Haa'aji grinned and threw an arm over the elf's shoulders.

"Lies," her monotone responded as she remained still in her seat. She was the only one at the table without a mug either plastered in hand or resting on the table. Like Mitchell, Liila had almost no alcohol tolerance. However, she was a rather angry and bitter drunk and had ruined more than a few parties, which had left the rest of the guild voting on a rule that she had to stay as sober as possible.

Whisper chugged her drink and ordered another. "I got you, Mitch." As the waitress nodded their way, she lowered her hand, though she paused, her eyes wide, as she wondered when she'd grown extra fingers. She tried several times to grip a few of the new appendages before cursing their ethereal nature and letting her hand rest back in her lap.

Shadow sat with the other four in silence, still swishing around the contents of his first ale. Since his undeath, he hadn't been much of a drinker. While most were left to wonder, Haa'aji had hinted once that it had to do with accidentally raising a bartender's wife as a ghoul. Though there was no proof and Shadow was sure as hell not going to tell anyone, it had been accepted that he did not make the best decisions about using his abilities once under the influence. Realistically, it was more to do with death knights being incapable of getting drunk, though the other two in the guild had no problem pretending they could. So as not to spoil their fun, Shadow left his reasons up to people's imaginations. He and Liila were probably the only two guild members who weren't harassed into drinking more when they went out with the group.

Shadow was also probably the only guild member who wasn't harassed into doing most anything. Even for a tauren, he was huge, and while he had been one of the gentlest creatures in life, the whole death knight aspect of his existence only made him more intimidating. How many times had creatures fled from his visage in Shattrath, even as he asked them how he could help? He glanced at Mitchell and then looked away, ruefully wondering why the forsaken could feel the influences of alcohol, when death knights could not.

As he tried to avoid catching sight of his reflection in the amber colored liquid of his drink, Haa'aji reached over and snatched the mug away, downing it all in a single gulp. While he wasn't sure, Shadow was under the impression that the troll hated the thought of wasting alcohol...well, it was really the thought of wasting any food at all.

He hadn't told Mitchell the full details pertaining to their trollish companion, but the truth of the matter was that Haa'aji was very much so an Amani. The rogue would probably have been an enemy if not for the Scourge. However, he'd been separated from his tribe—how, he would never say—and had ended up running into Liila whilst traversing the Plaguelands in search of an escape from the undead menace. During their travels, the two had nearly starved to death time and time again, with their willpower the only thing keeping them going.

The duo had managed to reach the forsaken's lands and the Dark Lady's people had been surprisingly welcoming to the two breathers. While they had since somewhat damaged the Banshee Queen's opinions of them, they still had a good many undead friends who claimed them under the forsaken banner.

While the five of them mulled over the fact that their guild was bound to expand sooner or later, their warlock companions, Timmons and Enlyhn, sat in a corner on the opposite side of the room. They'd been gone most of the morning, no doubt harvesting souls from the pirates to the east, and had chosen not to join in on the drinking when they returned. While Haa'aji and Whisper had yelled at them and tried to get them to come over, they'd eventually given up when Enlyhn used his curse of tongues on Haa'aji. For the next half hour, the troll had taken to conversing with a human warlock's imp. The human and his friends had been less than amused and had finally abandoned the inn to the Horde, not wanting their discussions to be interrupted by a troll slurring demonic at them. Haa'aji had since recovered from the curse, he'd been content to leave the warlocks be.

Wrachette Sprogworks trotted over to the them with a fresh round of drinks and dragged an extra stool over to the table once she'd set the beers down. As she hopped up, she tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder, and twirled one of the earrings in her large, green ears.

"So. I hear we've got some new guildies?"

Shadow looked down at the goblin. "We haven't heard for sure, one way or the other. You did?"

The bartender, Tizzle Sprogworks, spotted Wrachette before she could answer and slammed his fist down on the counter. "Gab when ya shift is over!"

Wrachette stuck her tongue out at her brother and looked back at the others, who had all grown quiet. "Well, nothin's official yet, but I hear they took those two recruits out on a few dungeon runs, and they seem ta be pretty competent. Margaret says it's lookin' pretty bleak for ya, Haaney."

The troll's ear twitched at his nickname, but he said nothing. That was, until he noticed the eye of kilrogg hovering over his shoulder. He frowned at it. "Realleh, mon? Ya guys be too lazeh ta walk de damn room 'n lissen? Instead ya got ta waste ya mana like ya a buncha elves?"

Timmons stared blankly across the room at them from under his hood while Enlyhn sat perfectly still, the caster. Tizzle tapped the table in front of Wrachette and frowned as they all turned their attention to him. "Maybe they don't wanna be seen with ya morons," he muttered before glaring at his sister. "I sure as hell ain't paying ya for the last four minutes. Get off ya ass and work for ya money."

"Ya know," Wrachette snapped as she hopped to her feet and dragged the stool after her, "this is why mom left. She knew ya'd be crap for family."

Shadow let out a low whistle and pushed his new drink toward Haa'aji who easily downed it. As the troll kept up his insults to the eye, Shadow watched Tizzle and Wrachette argue. There were three goblins in the guild altogether, though none of them could be overly open about it. They were members of the Steamwheedle Cartel and couldn't be caught choosing sides...not if they wanted to stay in Booty Bay and Winterspring, anyway. While Liila and a few others had offered to make them at home in Orgrimmar, the goblins were intent on keeping with their own, always making the excuse that there was money to be made. In truth, Shadow suspected that—at least in the case of the Sprogworks twins—it really had to do with a hope that they might stumble across their parents again one day.

Shadow blinked as Haa'aji slapped his hand down on the table in front of him. "Well, mon?"

When Mitchell could see that Shadow hadn't been paying attention, he jumped to fill him in, though his words were barely decipherable between his excitement and slurring. "We were thinking that we haven't been back to the Molten Core in almost a year. Wanna go see if anything's started to try to inhabit it again?"

~"~

Margaret West stretched her boney limbs over her head and yawned. As she swung her arms back down and resumed her perpetual hunch, with limp strands of her hair just barely brushing her collar bone, she turned to watch Gregor wishing Sethyl and Wren, the two candidates for their guild, a pleasant evening. As the two elves trotted off, the one she was pretty sure to be Wren turned to start a tenuous conversation with his fellow elf.

If only one of them got in, she really hoped it would be Wren. Screw pally buffs, Wren was gorgeous. With his long, flowing blonde hair that fell well down his back and those muscles that she could make out beneath his well-fitting leather armor.... By Sylvanas, she might be forsaken, but there was nothing wrong with keeping eye candy around. As she supposed that Sethyl would do just as well, if he was accepted into the guild, Gregor walked up beside her.

She blinked, realizing that he and Sham were watching her. Sham motioned after the two. "Well, what did you think?"

"What do I think?" Margaret arched an eyebrow before laughing. "I think that it doesn't matter how good they are if they can't withstand Haa'aji or Liila." She grinned when both Gregor and Sham sighed. "By the way, they're holed up in Tizzle's place. Want me to let them know they can come back without getting stomped into the ground by a fire elemental?"

"No one honestly thinks I would do that," Sham protested as she shuffled through her bags, reorganizing them. When Margaret and Gregor gave one another a knowing look, but said nothing, she paused to eye them. "Haa'aji needs to learn that he can't just throw a fit and keep people from joining the guild. He's not the guild master."

Gregor groaned slightly, popping one of his shoulders without realizing how it made the protruding bone in his shoulder shift. Sham tried to ignore it—it always sent a shiver through her. "True as that is, it's not really fair to drive our current guild members away." He rubbed his jaw slowly, massaging the aches that came with being dead. "I mean, we have what, a fifth of the guild hiding out in Stranglethorn right now?"

Biting back a snicker, Margaret shook her head. "More than that. I think they kidnapped the 'locks."

Gregor ran his hand over his face and shook his head slowly. While Haa'aji and his little posse might be idiots, they were good at covering their tracks. Gregor hated going to any warlocks who weren't in the guild to help him summon. They always expected something in return, yet never wanted to specify what or when.

Only last week he'd had to deal with the last warlock he'd asked for help over a year ago. The orc had appeared on his doorstep in the dead of night with a request for Gregor to help tank a demon that the orc was quite sure had appeared in Orgrimmar's Cleft through no means related to his coven. Of course Gregor would keep this quiet too, seeing as he owed him and all.

Margaret scoffed, drawing Gregor from his thoughts. "Do we really need to represent the elves better?"

Blinking back her surprise, Sham shouldered her gear. "We're not really trying to represent them in the guild—"

"Then why didn't we send out any invitations to any orcs...? Or tauren? Whisper has a friend back in Thunderbluff who she thinks would be great for melee." Margaret took in the duo's confused expressions before putting a hand on her hip. "What? You didn't think that we didn't know who all you were asking, did you? We totally had ahold of those invites the minute they left your hands."

Gregor rubbed his temples, willing himself not to snap. "In that case, I'm surprised any of them made it to their destinations."

The pointed look he sent Margaret’s way when she opened her mouth to respond gave her pause, and she slowly closed it, her lips forming a thin line. While Gregor would never be sure, he could all but bet his unlife that the reason only two elves had shown an interest in joining was because only two invitations had ever reached anyone.

Sham sighed. "Even with our aid, the elves have kept mostly to themselves. Gore and a few other guild leaders thought it would be best to reach out to them...to help integrate them into the Horde. Make them feel needed so that they become better allies."

Nodding, Gregor ran a hand through his lifeless hair. "When I still had a heartbeat, I saw a few instances of what a single elven mage could do. It was impressive."

"I know that," Margaret muttered as she started to cast a portal to the Swamp of Sorrows, easily assuming that her guild leaders would be willing to stalk their guild mates. "It's just that Liila's been avoiding Orgrimmar since the sin'dorei joined us. Say what you will about guild expansion, but it’s not fair to her."

Sham nodded sympathetically, though she waited until they had all taken the portal before replying. "It would be better, really, if she would stop avoiding it and just meet with the other elves."

"But she tried that already, and it was a disaster," Margaret protested.

Gregor eyed the two as he pulled on the reins of his worg—the creature hated taking portals and always acted up afterwards. "What nonsense is this?"

Margaret pushed him irritably. "And you try to tell me you aren't color blind." When her guild leader merely stared blankly at her, she rolled her eyes. "Liila's a high elf, you moron."

~"~

Shadow and the others stared across the river of flowing lava at Haa'aji as he screamed and ran, flailing his arms, from the molten giant. The creature stomped down and sent the rogue flying.

Even as Mitchell pointed toward their battered friend, Liila spoke in her usual monotone. "He's out of range." She turned down the winding path that eventually led to where their companion was. Shadows engulfed her as she took a few steps down the trail and started dotting up the nearest fire lord.

No sooner had the last of them turned away, still wondering exactly how Haa'aji had managed to get across the lava—it would be ludicrous to assume anyone could swim it—they heard a rumbling thud. Mitchell glanced to his side just in time to see Haa'aji come trotting up beside him. The troll was watching Shadow and Liila take down their first adversary with ease, with Whisper only half paying attention in case heals were needed. Mitchell looked across the lava to see the molten giant lying on the ground across the way and then turned to stare at Haa'aji, baffled.

He knew better than to ask the rogue anything, though, like how he had so easily gotten back to the group. It was an odd thing that both Timmons and Liila did as well. If a question was asked, they would stare down the inquirer until someone else said something or—after a long enough awkward pause had ensued—simply turn and walk away, never offering up an explanation.

Pausing, Mitchell glanced back at the two warlocks, who had persisted in shadowing the group. They had taken to fishing the lava, using their imps. Though the demons bitched and moaned, they seemed immune to fire magics and damage and were stuck swimming through the lava, looking for anything un-melted of interest that they might be able to reach.

"Ya gon ta be carried de whole way tru?" Haa'aji asked, grinning as Mitchell turned away from the warlocks and sulked.

While the warlocks stayed behind to continue fishing, the rest of the group easily made it through the first half of the fiery depths, eliminating any and all elementals who had dared to come back to inhabit the old lair.

They'd been doing pretty well when Haa'aji had started fooling around with Mitchell and accidentally pushed him over a small overlook and into a large group of monsters who had been suspiciously inspecting their prospective home, with a rather crumbly looking giant trying desperately to steer them away from the reason the former owners had left. As fireballs and blades flew, the giant covered its face with a large stone tablet which had bullet points of the different rooms and benefits the lair provided. It took advantage of the chaos of its potential buyers frantically defending themselves to turn away and walk into the lava. To Ragnaros with having its own personality, if those mortal assholes were going to keep coming back, there was no way he'd ever rise to be a decent realtor. Perhaps the competition in the fire plane was looking better these days....

Whisper and Liila watched the giant melt away and then glanced at one another before shrugging and levitating down to join their guild mates. Shadow had already launched himself into the fray, tackling one of the elementals as it tried to stomp Mitchell into bone dust.

 Just as the dust was beginning to settle and Haa'aji was rummaging through the broken bits of rock and bindings that had kept the elementals in the mortal plane, they all felt the same nagging sensation that came with a summons, as well as a mental image of who was doing it. Timmons. Haa'aji dropped a handsome looking axe that had been wedged into one of the earthen giants and jumped into Whisper's arms, clinging to her. "Save meh, wooman! Dey be comin' fa us!"

As Whisper stared wide eyed at the troll in her arms, he tried to fight back his grin. He loved making the others panic, and he wasn't about to let them forget that they were in hiding.

Shadow shook his head slowly, even as Whisper dropped Haa'aji to the ground—not that anything other than his feet touched it. "Takes three to summon, remember? We left two."

~"~

Timmons watched his summons stone fade out with a look of apathy—from what could be seen of his face beneath the shadows of his hood. His tone echoed that same disinterest. "They must not have accepted."

Wrachette swung her arms back and forth as she stared into the old lair. "It's not like it'll be hard ta find 'em. Just follow the trail of bodies."

She looked over her shoulder and up at Gregor, Margaret, and Sham.

Margaret was thoroughly amused, easily seeing herself in hiding with the others, should the cards have played out differently. While she normally hung out with Whisper and Liila in the alchemy shop, she had promised Mitchell she would deliver some of his findings to the Royal Apothecary's Society. At the time, she hadn't understood why he’d needed her to do it in his stead, but a clearer and clearer picture was presenting itself. He must have already committed to his mission to lead Sham astray, but didn't want to leave the Society waiting.

How very noble of him.

Noticing that Wrachette was watching her, Margaret gave her a sly wink. Wrachette always enjoyed Margaret and the others' stories of adventure and idiocy. The goblin only ever made it to official raids, where such mishaps were not considered acceptable. In fact, it was the only time half of the guild members ever acted like they were actually interested in saving the world. The rest of their time was taken up with proposed Hogger raids, picnics at Southshore, and equally idiotic wastes of time. Margaret couldn't think of any other way she'd rather spend her unlife. After all, Sylvanas had plenty of forsaken to serve her.

Wrachette perked up and started ahead, following her own advice and not waiting to see if anyone followed, though the whole lot of them did. Even the warlocks shouldered their fishing poles to head out, though they only banished their imps—who were still hung up on the fishing hooks—back to the nether after Sham requested it to keep the little bastards quiet. In truth, she didn't think that even demons deserved to be treated that cruelly, but she knew better than to voice such concerns to warlocks.

It didn't take twenty uneventful minutes before the small entourage came to the room they had fought Ragnaros in, years ago. The group they were after was hanging out near the point that the Firelord had been summoned from, with Haa'aji poking at the lava with what was left of an old staff they'd found, abandoned in the depths. The troll seemed sorely disappointed that the elemental overlord had yet to resurrect.

As Gregor and the others approached, the conversations betwixt Mitchell and Whisper and Shadow and Haa'aji tapered off and the five watched in silence as their guild leader wearily came to stop across the way from them. He crossed his arms. "We're accepting the new recruits."

In truth, he, Gore, and Sham had agreed on it earlier, but they'd brought Margaret along, knowing that she was easily on the same wavelength as their attempted saboteurs, hoping to see if the mischievous lot might be persuaded to stop their shenanigans.

While most of them simply shrugged off the news, figuring that their guild leaders had good judgment, Haa'aji threw his staff into the lava and scowled. "Wat dey possibly brin' ta us dat we don' alreadeh have? Palleh buffs? Egos dat'll leave de guild so torn up dat we won' be able ta do nettin'? Dey'll be late ta evereh damn raid! Dey'll be too concerned wit appe'ances ta actualleh fight! Dey—"

"Enough!" Gregor snapped. While he had wanted to pull Liila to the side and speak with her about any awkwardness that she might need an authority figure to help her sort through with their new guild mates—seeing as blood elves and high elves didn't exactly get along and all—he forgot it as Haa'aji went on his rant. "If you can't get over your own petty beliefs, we don't need you. I don't care how useful Gore or anyone else thinks you are, it's not worth estranging different peoples of the Horde."

Haa'aji's mouth hung open in mild shock before he snapped it shut abruptly and turned away from his guild leader. He'd been friends, well, a lovable annoyance to Gregor since before the forsaken had even joined the Horde, and he was a bit startled by the notion that the man would choose people he barely knew over him. "Whateva, mon."

A long, awkward silence settled over the group before Mitchell finally took in a sharp, ragged breath so that he could sigh. "So...port to Org?"

Margaret nodded to him quietly before forcing a smile at Wrachette. "I'll get you one to the swamp, sound good?"

As everyone went their separate ways, Haa'aji stood in silence, watching the portals glimmer. He was used to his guild leaders getting angry, but to go so far as to tell him he wasn't needed? While he tried to shake off his feeling of abandonment, figuring that Gregor just hadn't been thinking when he'd yelled, Liila put a hand on his shoulder. She and Timmons had remained behind. Liila lightly hugged Haa'aji's arm. "He didn't mean all that. You just pushed him too far."

Haa'aji reached up and patted her head gently. "Sorreh, mon. Ah tried ta keep dem from da guild. Ah know ya didn' wan' ta—"

"It is fine." Liila maintained her expressionless look, staring at the lava as it bubbled up and sucked itself back under. Even as she spoke, Timmons reached out toward her, though he pulled his hand back as Haa'aji seemed to notice, boney fingers curling in toward his palm before he pressed his fist into his robe. Oblivious, Liila kept talking. "It is fine. If need arises, I will leave." Unaware of the way Haa’aji was scowling at Timmons, Liila trotted toward the portal to Orgrimmar. "After all, a single elf is worth less than a city of them."


	3. Welcome to the Guild!

Wren had to say he was disappointed. Gore had stopped by the inn the night before to tell both he and Sethyl that they'd been accepted into the guild. As members, he'd given each of them a small stone, which had burst into life as soon as it hit their palms, saying that it was a way with which the guild communicated with one another. He told them that, should they be unable to figure out how to send messages with them, someone would show them how in the next day or so.

Since receiving the stone, Wren had sort of expected to get some late night, cryptic message telling him to travel to some remote part of the world to eliminate a foe. His stone had remained silent.

To further add to his irritation, he couldn't figure out how to use the thing to send a message. He was a damn elf, wasn't he? The fact that his kind was so close to magic and hadn't figured out such a form of communication at first left him baffled, though he quickly decided that it was probably so complicated and cumbersome that they had turned their noses up at it.

Wren wasn't sure what was worse. The apparent inactivity of his guild now that he was a member, or the hammock he was strung up on. He hated orcish inns. He understood that orcs were gruff, barbaric creatures, but really? They couldn't use pillows?

He reached down to his bags where they rested beside his bed—if it could really be called that—and patted a small pouch tied on to the side of his rucksack. He swung his feet off the hammock, and pulled the pouch into his lap. Opening it, he stared down at the dozens of mana crystals which shone dimly up at him, each one glowing ever so faintly with a life of its own. He pondered tapping one, to jump start his day, but quickly snapped the bag shut as he felt someone leaning over him.

"Addicted much?" Sethyl was already up, with all his belongings slung over his shoulder. The innkeeper had pulled them to the side when they first arrived and warned them that there was a damn decent chance their stuff would be gone if they ever left it unattended, should they trust the altruism of the thieves of Orgrimmar. While her intentions had been pure, it had left both elves rather annoyed to have to lug their belongings with them everywhere they went.

Wren tied his mana crystal pouch to his belt and shoved his feet into his boots at the same time. As he ran his fingers through his hair, wishing desperately for a real light blessed bath, he glared at the paladin. "I didn't know how long I'd be here and didn't want to risk needing to leave early."

Sethyl laughed, and Wren eyed a few orcs who took note and inspected the duo with mild suspicion. "What, did you think it'd take a year for them to decide whether they wanted us or not?"

"Well, it did take them a little over a week." Wren jerked up his belongings and headed toward the door, partially regretting that he'd made an attempt to befriend Sethyl. The paladin seemed to enjoy keeping Wren in his company, if only to poke fun at everything the farstrider did.

With no other clue where to go and having never met any of the guild anywhere other than the alchemy shop, Wren took his hawkstrider's reins and headed down the Drag. Sethyl followed on his steed.

They were almost to the shop when their ears picked up a voice they hadn't heard before, and both slowed their paces, unable to stop themselves from eavesdropping.

"Gods, mon. Alliance be such dicks."

"And I'm sure they think the same thing about you." Whisper was the second one talking. Despite having met her but once, the elves could easily identify her voice. The other one, a male troll from the sound of it, was new.

"Jus' sayin'.  It been Booteh Bay. Neutra terratoreh. Dea been no need ta make jokes 'bout dem mu’locs. Fa all dey know, me mudda was killed by mu’locs."

Whisper sighed. "She wasn't." Her voice was uncertain.

The troll scoffed. "Dey didn' know dat. Ah tink dat lock was jus' angreh his imp be likin' meh moa den him."

"Oh yes. Because warlocks care so much about the affections of their demons," Whisper muttered.

A few sharp clinks interrupted the conversation, followed by a lengthy scolding on Whisper's part.

As the elves came to the door, they both stopped. Whisper was alone at the little table in the back, cleaning up a few broken glass shards. The tauren was muttering something about idiot jumpy trolls as the two walked in, looking around. Sethyl openly wandered over to the counter and peered behind it, half expecting to see the missing troll squatting down just out of sight from the entrance.

When that proved to turn up nothing, his eyes looked over the room once again before stopping on that closed door. He frowned. He hadn't heard it open or shut. And as close as they were, there was no way a troll could have gotten from the back of the room to the door before they came up, anyway. Was he in the lab?

Just as Sethyl turned to ask Whisper what was going on, he felt something smush down his hair and rest on top of his head. At the same time, he felt pressure weighing down on his shoulders. It took him a moment to realize long, pale, mossy green, arms were poking out in front of him from either side. He reached up slowly and felt the tusks just above his head before his eye twitched.

Wren wasn't sure whether to laugh or just stand there, so he did the latter. One moment, they'd just been wondering where the hell the troll was, the next he had simply been there, using Sethyl as leaning post. Wren was confused as a creature caught in the nether. Even if the damn thing was a rogue...he was pretty sure stealth didn't work like that.

Whisper turned and glared above Sethyl's head at the troll. "Haa'aji. Didn't Gregor talk to you about this?"

"Wat?" The troll straightened up so that he towered behind Sethyl for a moment before quickly reaching out and catching Wren, pulling him over so that he had an arm around each of their shoulders. "Ah be makin' friends."

Sethyl was spastically combing his fingers through his flattened hair, trying—and somewhat failing—not to twitch. Haa'aji watched the elf for a moment before turning to inspect Wren. He in turn stared back at the troll, wide-eyed, unsure whether he liked his new 'friend'. Haa'aji nodded to him slowly. "Hey, mon."

"Hi...."

Haa'aji released Sethyl and pointed to Wren. "Ah like dis 'n."

Wren carefully freed himself from Haa'aji's grasp and took a few steps away, not quite trusting the troll, though he couldn't place why. Perhaps years of being at war with the Amani had tainted his ability to be unbiased more so than he'd originally suspected.

Whisper watched as Wren gave Haa'aji a friendlier smile and offered him a handshake. As the troll took Wren's hand and flipped it back and forth, curious, as though he didn't know what the elf was attempting to do, she sighed to herself. She'd thought it was strange. When she'd first met the troll, Haa'aji had never seemed to have it out for any race specifically. Rather, he had somehow managed to understand all cultures just enough to be a complete prick toward everyone equally.

He'd already been traveling with Liila for a while at that point, and he had never bitched about the elves. In fact, it hadn't been until the day the elves had arrived in Orgrimmar to join the Horde. At first, he'd seemed fine, asking questions about whether they really ate children's souls to keep their eyes glowy and whether their rogues practiced magic, too. However, something had happened over the duration of the evening, and by the next morning, Haa'aji was an elf hater. He'd been adamant that the creatures were useless and would talk down about them every chance he got...but something hadn't felt right.

Whisper frowned as she took the glass shards of the broken vials and dropped them into a small waste basket near the counter. Why would anyone pretend to be racist? As though to answer her own question, her mind wandered back to Liila. Perhaps he'd been trying to protect her?

However, before she could continue along this line of thought, a few things happened at once. First, the elves stilled, their eyes widening. Even as Haa'aji poked at Sethyl in an attempt to recapture the paladin's attention, a massive bag of herbs appeared in the doorway, Liila's stick thin arms wrapped about its middle, with sprigs of fadeleaf and khadgar's whiskers and netherbloom among others sticking out the top and blocking her view of pretty much anything.

Whisper considered Liila thin in comparison to any other creature of the Horde, though no one was sure if she'd be considered scrawny by elf standards, seeing as Haa'aji had made a permanent enemy of the ambassador in Thrall's presence and gotten half the guild banned from talking to Lady Dawnsinger.

"Help me," the bag demanded. As Liila walked into the shop, Haa'aji headed to the door, understanding that the little elf was referring to other satchels, rather than the one she was carrying. Even as he tossed a few packs into the air and caught them at once, stumbling forward to keep some purple lotuses from falling to the ground, Whisper darted forward, grabbing her staff from where it leaned against one end of the counter and making it just in time to block Sethyl's sword as it nearly came down on Liila.

Haa'aji didn't make a move toward the elf as he sauntered past the stalemate to drop the herbs on the counter. "Liila, watcha be doin' ta piss off dese fine gentamen?"

Liila set her bag down and turned a pale green gaze toward them. "Breathing, apparently." She looked at the herbs on the counter and then started back toward the door. "Shadow's going to be here shortly with a few more. Genji had a pretty good run of Outland and picked up a few more herbs at the auction house."

Sethyl pulled back his weapon and let out a sharp, startled cry as, instead of lowering her weapon as well, Whisper nailed him in the back of the shins with her staff and brought him to his knees. She glared from him to Wren and back. "Liila's a member of the guild. There's no need to attack her."

Wren stared at the elf woman as she leaned against the doorway and looked out into the Drag, waiting. He pointed at her slowly. "She's not a sin'dorei."

Haa'aji perked up. "Watcha be talkin' 'bout, mon?"

Rising to his feet, Sethyl glared at Whisper. "She's just using magic...a glamour, really, to make her eyes look green. I doubt she's ever used fel magic a day in her life." When both Whisper and Haa'aji stared at him blankly, he felt himself struggling not to simply turn around and nail Liila with his sword. "In other words, she's a high elf. A spy."

Liila walked back by him, another bag in her arms. As Shadow's laughter boomed from the outside, still caught up in a conversation from earlier, Liila paused to glance over Sethyl. However, when she spoke, it was to her older guild mates. "I told you a glamour wasn't worth it."

Wren fought back a shudder at her monotone. He took a few steps toward her. "Why are you with the Horde if you're a high elf?"

He shivered as she stared at him, her blank expression seeming to ask him why he would think asking such a thing would be acceptable. Without responding, she set her bag on the counter and went for another, stopping as Shadow lumbered into the small shop, a troll trailing behind him.

Genji Tuskbreaker was yet another of the guild's mages. While he was considered the 'little guy' of the trolls, he still easily towered over the elves. He paused to frown when Haa'aji dove past the others to grab him and hoist him up into the air, so that Genji nearly hit the ceiling of the building.

"Genji! Ya still be a troll!"

"Goin' ta Outland don' change ya species," the mage muttered, already knowing better than to try to get back to the ground faster than Haa'aji would let him. While he might be able to escape the rogue, it would just result in friendly fire and being stun locked through the next raid.

As Haa'aji set the mage back on the floor, Genji irritably checked the ground for any fallen herbs. Pleased not to see any, he almost forgot to glare at his guild mate before walking over to the counter. However, instead of stopping there, he went passed it to the door and fumbled with the handle until it creaked open. He glanced back and looked over the elves before motioning with his head. "Grab sumtin 'n c'mon."

Wren and Sethyl found themselves mildly baffled as Whisper and Haa'aji both followed suit, Whisper pausing to toss Shadow a set of keys. The death knight flipped a closed sign out in front of the shop, locked the entrance, and headed toward the door. He paused to rustle Liila's hair before picking up a few bags and heading after the others.

Sethyl and Wren, without anything to do and still expecting an explanation as to why there was a high elf pretending to be a blood elf in the middle of Orgrimmar, grabbed what was left of the herbs and followed. Liila was the last through the door, and she quietly closed it behind them.

Instead of leading to the next shop over, it opened into a narrow hallway—if Shadow wasn't careful, his shoulder armor scraped against the walls—that went straight to the left. At what would have been the back of the shop, the hall took another left and went down.

It was a few more turns and declines before the hall finally came to another door, which opened into a rather large, well furnished room. The space had to be well over four times the size of the shop overhead, with stocks of different reagents and herbs and minerals and skins organized near the far wall. Closer to the door, several large tables offered ample seating. Mitchell and Margaret were already there, with Margaret working her way through a stack of inscriptions whilst Mitchell sewed like a madman. Several finished cloaks lay on the table beside him.

The two forsaken looked up and waved, their eyes glowing eerily in the dim light. Genji waved back, but frowned as he took a step into the room and paused to hit the wall twice. Small orbs of light dotted the ceiling—they had been in the hall as well—and they flickered brighter for those whose eyes didn't work as flashlights.

As Whisper gave the elves a few offhanded introductions, Mitchell nodded to them. "I'll get to making your tabards after I get your measurements...after I finish these." He patted the cloaks beside him with a skeletal hand.

Even as Sethyl and Wren slowly dropped into seats across from the forsaken, Liila walked up beside Mitchell and set her herbs onto the table. Margaret leapt to her feet and dragged the bag toward her. "I get some of these, right?"

"Ova hea, mon," Genji pushed her an entire satchel, and she relinquished her hold on Liila's.

Liila sat down quietly and waited until she'd begun to sort through the contents in front of her before saying, "The glamour just offended them."

Both Margaret and Mitchell paused in their work to look up at the other two elves. Margaret frowned and sighed, addressing the newcomers. "Sorry about that. We just didn't want there to be any drama."

"Too late for that," Whisper muttered, retrieving some vials from the far wall and coming back. "Sethyl nearly killed Liila upstairs."

Sethyl shifted awkwardly in his chair, and Wren carefully reached into his pouch of mana crystals and tapped one. He paused as he realized a hand was palm up next to him, under the table. He glanced at the paladin before rolling his eyes and dropping a crystal into his hand as he closed his pouch.

Shadow sat back in his chair, his large mace resting beside him. "Suppose you gentlemen should have gotten some fair warning," he chuckled. "Liila's been a member of the Horde since the forsaken joined...before the sin'dorei became the sin'dorei, really."

Mitchell nodded. "We thought that if she had green eyes, too, it wouldn't be a problem..." He paused and lightly thwacked Liila's head. Her eyes flickered back to blue.

"Fel magic's what makes them green," Sethyl murmured. He wondered if he ought to go into the reasons for it, but abandoned the notion as Margaret nodded.

"We know that, but..." she glanced toward Liila, who was content to start separating the leaves from the stems of some bruiseweed which had been stuffed all the way in the bottom of the sack. "Liila can't use fel magic."

The group settled into silence, with awkwardness only to be had by the newcomers, who weren't sure whether they ought to inquire further about the matter, or simply drop it. At length, they realized that Shadow was watching them. When they met his frigid gaze, he seemed to take note of their unease and tried to make himself appear less intimidating with a smile as he slouched his shoulders to make himself appear at least a bit smaller. He motioned toward the far wall.

"We have a guild bank, but with our turnover rate, it's easier to just keep mats down here. If you've any professions, feel free to take whatever you need. We just ask that you contribute to our stocks as well."

The two elves nodded and Shadow sensed the silence closing back in. "I hear you've been helping to clear out a few places."

"The druids in Wailing Caverns were back. Learned a few tricks from Outland, even," Margaret offered as she carefully penned another inscription.

Shadow nodded slowly. At length, he cocked his head. "You should know, we sent out nearly a dozen invitations to different denizens of Silvermoon. You two were the only ones who even showed an interest. Any thoughts why?"

Sethyl shifted in his chair, forgetting to worry whether he was on tense terms with the guild for his earlier stunt. "I thought this might be that Anonymous guild." He leaned into his hand, and it partially covered his face. "Not that there's anything wrong with Impervious."

Margaret let out a slow laugh. "Anonymous is just what people call them. If that were their guild name, you could find it in records halls of any city, along with a complete list of names."

A faint spark of hope ignited in Wren's chest. "So then...do any of you know Anonymous?"

"Damn good chance that anyone knows at least one member," Whisper shrugged, steering the conversation away. "Not much point in talking about it though. They stay anonymous for a reason."

As both elves looked at her quizzically, Haa'aji popped up between the two. "Dey say it be so dey don' have ta worreh 'bout dea families gettin' ta'geted by de Alliance."

Sethyl frowned. "But...they've never gone after the Alliance, have they? It seems that humans and their lot benefit just as well from Anonymous' endeavors as the Horde does."

"They fear that when there is nothing left to fight," Liila spoke up, her inflection unwavering, "Anonymous will turn their attention toward the Alliance."

Haa'aji nodded as he held up Wren's mana crystal pouch and opened it, pulling out one of the crystals to inspect. Even as Wren gasped and grabbed it back, the rogue shrugged. "If a guild can kill ah old god, jus' tink wat dey can do ta a king."

Genji jolted as he nearly fell out of his chair, having fallen asleep in it. He muttered something about time differences as Whisper shook her head and smiled sadly. "So much energy is wasted on hatred."

Drumming his fingers against the table, Wren didn't know whether he ought to go help himself to some of the leathers near the back wall or if, despite their offer, that might seem too presumptuous of him. He glanced at the rogue, who had stepped away from the elves and was instead rummaging, unwelcomed, through Genji's bags, pulling out different, other-worldly oddities.  At length the troll gasped and jerked free a strange object with a dull light at one end, just barely illuminating what looked to be a face.

"Da hell is dis?"

"Fish, mon," Genji muttered, giving up on his privacy and leaning his head in his hands. "Zanga’ian spoafish."

Haa'aji flipped it through the air a few times before losing interest and allowing it to splat to the ground as the door to the room abruptly slammed open. The room filled with the sounds of shouts and a struggle. Sethyl's and Wren's eyes bugged out as a bear and what looked like a dead orc tumbled into the room, with the bear finally winning out and pinning the orc—who they could tell by now to be very much animated—to the ground.

As the animal smirked and laughed, the sickly-looking orcish death knight shoved him away and jerked to his feet, yelling something about an idiot.

Whisper fought back giggles as she jumped from her seat and clopped over to the two. The bear was already shifting into a male tauren as Whisper reached them, and she caught her fellow cow in a tight hug. "Cloud! The hell are you doing to poor Blood?"

The druid laughed as he returned the hug. "Just a friendly duel."

Whisper simply shook her head, smile still in place, as she turned him around to face the rest of the guild. "Sethyl, Wren, meet our druid: Cloudless Meadowstalker." The tauren made a mock bow. His fur was pale, but lacked the spots that dotted Whisper's coat. As Shadow stood to greet him, it occurred to the elves that Shadow was a hulking creature, even for a tauren.

As the tauren began a quick conversation in their native tongue, with Whisper giggling at a few points, the orc in the doorway eyed the two elves before finally hitting his fist against his chest. "Blood Bloodsblood, at your service."

Wren couldn't help himself as he watched the death knight trot into the room and take a seat. "That's really your name?"

The orc stopped and stared at him. "It is as far as you're concerned." He eyed the elf more closely. "Guess my spec."

Wren could feel he was walking into a trap, but he knew too little about death knights to tell of what sort. "Blood?"

Blood gave him an incredulous look and pointed his thumb over his shoulder as a ghoul meandered vacantly into the room. "Unholy. That's Gobber...he's really just good as a doorstop...or paper weight. Not too bright. Gobber!" The ghoul got what almost looked to be a hopeful expression on what was left of its face as it stumbled up to its master. "Go stand in the corner. I don't need you drooling on anyone again." With a dejected slump, the ghoul obediently shuffled away from the group and stood in the nearest corner, watching them wistfully.

While Wren couldn't take his eyes off the depressed monster a mere few yards away, Sethyl looked over everyone else, making mental notes to help him remember people's names. When Margaret caught him inspecting everyone, she laughed. "With you two, we're back to twenty-five guild members. It's smaller than some guilds, but perfect for raiding."

Sethyl cocked his head. "Back to...I take it we're replacing someone?"

Haa'aji nodded, a fleeting look of regret flashing across his face. "Yeh, mon."

"Poor Lisp." Whisper shook her head as she switched conversations. Cloudless and Shadow were still talking to the side.

"You shouldn't have dared him to jump off the zeppelin," Mitchell muttered, finishing the last of his cloaks. He folded it before hopping up and pulling out a measuring tape. As he trotted around to the elves, he shook his head slowly.

Margaret sighed. "Well, it's not like Haa'aji knew there was something called a whale shark in the middle of the ocean."

The troll nodded again. "He be restin' in pieces wit’ da fishes now."

"And then there was Cinder," Cloudless offered, speaking to the elves for the first time and keeping them from thinking too hard about what they were saying had happened to Lisp. "Ran off with a succubus."

Whisper sighed. "I never understood why Enlyhn didn't just dismiss her. I mean...it was his demon."

"Warlocks are strange creatures," Shadow murmured and the rest offered up various agreements. They were mildly intrigued to see Wren seemed to be in unusually strong agreement with this fact, though they let their curiosity slide when he didn't offer any telling stories as proof.

Quickly growing bored, Blood stood up, sauntered to the back of the room, and shuffled through a pile of miscellaneous plunder before finally emerging triumphant with a keg. As Haa'aji darted forward to help him locate enough mugs and started passing drinks around, Blood began to speak. His voice was a bit raspy, but overall it had the authority of someone who had once commanded. Sethyl couldn't help but wonder if the orc was an officer in the guild.

"Well, it's looking like we won't have to concern ourselves with the naga," he was saying as he came back to sit with the others at the table. "The Alliance have already infiltrated the Cavern. Leafless and Howl stayed back in Shattrath to try to work something out with either the Scryers or the Aldor in regards to the Temple, but we're thinking that the Keep will be next on our agenda."

Cloudless nodded, before frowning. "I've seen some of the elves fight in Outland, and the sin'dorei really have it out for high elves," he didn't seem to notice both Wren and Sethyl exchange looks, "so we might need to find someone else to take Liila's place...."

"I've been to Netherstorm before. The elves there will not be a problem for me," Liila murmured, twisting a few buds off a stalk of Khadgar's whiskers.

"Yes, but they might try to corrupt you...change you into a wretched."

"They can try," she murmured, her voice still void of any emotion. "If nothing else, perhaps I could serve as a decoy."

Haa'aji slouched down beside Wren again. "Yeh mon, 'n won' dey go afta dese two, too?"

Sethyl frowned, though he tried not to fidget as Mitchell muttered something about having to retake a measurement. "If they're crazy or in severe withdrawal, they'll go after _anyone_ with magic. Being an elf doesn't really make a difference."

Haa'aji hit his fist into his palm. "Ah got it, mon. We be needin' fishin' poles 'n gnomes."

With a scoff, Margaret began to shuffle her papers, finished with her writings for the day. "Gnomes don't exist. They're just Alliance propaganda to make us think they're stronger than they are."

Liila brushed the buds she'd collected into a small, clear bag. "I've seen gnomes."

"Lies," Haa'aji cried, before realizing this was counterproductive to his plans. "Neway, dem liila crittas a all ova magic, yeh? We get sum people ta dangle de gnomes 'n fron' a da elves 'n we sneak pas' dem. Assassinate dea leada, 'n go home fa a round. Save us from havin' ta fight de whole lot a dem."

Even as a few people began to talk at once, explaining—some more serious than others—why such a plan would fail miserably, Wren and Sethyl cast one another an unsure glance.

While they had been eager to join with their new guild and head out to fight the good fight, it seemed that the whole lot of their fellow guild mates were somewhat off.

It might not prove a wise decision to stick around.

After all, if they stayed and learned that their guild mates were too moronic to figure out not to stand in the fire, it'd be too late to save themselves.

Genji caught their mild looks of worry and terror and patted the table in front of them as Cloudless let out a roar and tackled Haa'aji to the ground. "Dun worreh, mon. Tings dun get serious 'til da guild leadas get hea."


	4. The Eye

Deathstalker Roberts stood with twenty-three of the Horde's finest on the outer reaches of Netherstorm, looking up to inspect the Tempest Keep. Of Impervious, he was the only member to offer up only his last name; he'd even signed the charter as simply Roberts.

In truth, he liked his name well enough. However, he knew for a fact that he still had a younger brother living in Stormwind—a few weeks after coming to serve Lady Sylvanas, when he was still in denial of his undeath, he had strayed off on his own and made it all the way to the Alliance capital. He'd found his brother, though he never attempted to speak to him. While looking through the window, he'd caught his own reflection and had been so disgusted by it that he'd fled down to Duskwood and roamed the area for nearly a month before finally giving up and heading back to Tirisfal.

However, as well adjusted as he may have become, he still didn't want word to reach his brother of his existence. If he had been able to make it so far into Stormwind, he had little doubt that his sibling could make it just as far into the Undercity. He didn't want his brother to see him like this.

Thus he kept any personal details to himself. Luckily, it turned out that the majority of the guild cared less about pasts and more about abilities.

Namely the ability to screw with one another.

Roberts let out a withered sigh as Haa'aji slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed until the forsaken's bones creaked. While he usually enjoyed competing with his fellow rogue, he'd just been out of it of late. As he brushed off his foul disposition, dismissing it as a result of his most recent dealings with the Scarlet Crusade, Haa'aji released him and trotted over to Liila and Shadow. "Hey mon! We still be banned from Undaciteh?"

Margaret rolled her eyes as Roberts gave the trio a crooked smile, despite himself. "I wouldn't look at it as a ban as much as I would a promise that if Sylvanas ever sees any of you in her city again, she'll make sure you're buried beneath it."

Haa'aji nodded slowly. "So we can go dea, s'long as we be avoidin' authoratehs."

Roberts shrugged. "I suppose you could also try appealing to the Dark Lady's mercy with an apology."

"No one told us that would explode," Shadow muttered, though he trailed off as he caught Sham glaring in their direction.

She wasn't the only one who'd been listening in, and Wren was growing more and more concerned with whom he'd thrown his lot. He forced his attention away from the trouble makers, though. As his eyes passed over the group, he paused to inspect the faces who were unfamiliar to him.

Howl Bonecrusher was an orc warrior who seemed to be a man of few words. He stood near a tauren woman, who went only by Leafless. Haa'aji had been quick to inform Wren that both she and Shadow had been druids before the Lich King had raised them. Leafless seemed an appropriate name, seeing as her nature magic was now forever beyond her reach. Instead, she'd turned to frost. Neither she nor Shadow seemed overly affected by death, like some other death knights he'd seen. Rather, the only real tips were their glowing blue eyes and the fact that little puffs of ice occasionally escaped their frozen throats.

Like he'd been told earlier, there were three goblins in their guild. Aside from the Sprogworks twins was Sprocket Screwbolt, a short tempered mage from Everlook. Mitchell had suggested Wren and Sethyl avoid Sprocket until they had a better standing with the guild, seeing as the goblin was known to set people's hair on fire when he thought them incompetent or asking for more than they deserved.

In truth, they were short a guild member, though when Sethyl had asked about him, Gore had merely said that he was away taming a new pet.

Even as Gore and Gregor began to explain the guild's plan for their attack on Tempest Keep, based on the information they'd spent the last few weeks gathering, Wren and Sethyl found themselves dragged backwards. When they were a few feet behind the rest of the group, Sethyl managed to break free and turned to see Haa'aji grinning from ear to ear.

Tizzle, the goblin priest from Booty Bay, stood back with Mitchell, eyeing the elven duo. He glanced back toward their guild leaders before stepping closer to the others. Haa'aji pulled a few tattered pages from out of his vest, holding them up for Sethyl and Wren to see. It was Tizzle, however, who spoke on the matter that was apparently so urgent that they could pull them away from strategizing. Wren looked back once to see that Shadow was holding up a meticulously accurate map of the Keep, with Liila standing beside him and pointing to different rooms, talking in her soft, droning voice. He could barely hear something about a reaver as his collar was jerked down.

Tizzle glared up at him. "Pay attention, will ya?" He hit the papers his trollish friend was holding. "We want a damn sentry for the guild. It seems inappropriate ta secure one from Silvermoon, seein' as some might consider it stealin’ from our own, so this looks like one of the best chances we'll get. Now if either of ya have the faintest idea how ta work those things, now's the time to speak up."

Looking over the papers, Wren frowned. It looked like a child's rendition of what he guessed was a troll, goblin, and undead holding hands and smiling with an arcane guardian. The word Curator had been Xed off the top of the paper with a little angry face drawn next to it.

Sethyl's eyebrow twitched. "I'm a blood knight, not an architect or a magister."

Wren stared at the paper for a long moment before finally tapping the center sphere on the drawing's body. "I think that's the power core. I don't really know how to program them, though."

"Magical or Mechanical?" Tizzle pushed.

"Like you need to ask," Mitchell muttered and nodded to Wren. "Thanks. Make sure you don't attack the power cores if we come up against any. Haa'aji will take care of them."

"If you're done..." Wren jumped and whirled around to see Liila standing behind him. While her eyes had been on the group in general, they focused on the skittish elf. "Gore would like you to join us. Assuming you're not too busy keeping separate conference?"

Wren paused, unable to tell if her last comment had been a question or a sarcastic statement. Inflection really did do wonders in language. Liila's eyes were tinged green, and Wren couldn't help but wonder if it was because of the unstable, swirling magics of Netherstorm. It was mildly intoxicating just being there, and he was used to riding high on mana crystals. He could only imagine what it must be like for someone who hinted at a low magical tolerance.

As the others readied to enter into the Keep, Liila jerked her hood up over her head and concealed the upper half of her face—one of the rules of the guild, one that Sethyl and Wren both found particularly galling, was that hoods and helms were required for any and all raids.

Liila turned away and shadows rolled off her body, engulfing her in darkness. The more the shadows seethed, the less she felt like a high elf and the more she felt like...nothing.

~"~

Sethyl understood that lives would be lost. He had no problem cutting down his misguided brethren, half of them drunk on the magics of Outland. What bothered him was the way Haa'aji and Wrachette had to go through every corpse's pockets, examine every weapon, and look over the fallen's armor as though they might take it for themselves if it seemed intact enough.

He blanched when Wrachette abruptly tapped a fallen blood knight, and Haa'aji hopped over and began to remove the elf’s boots. Wrachette opened her satchel gleefully and nodded approvingly as Haa'aji dropped the loot into her bags. She noticed Sethyl's helmet indicating his attention was on her and gave him a wide grin which he could just barely see beneath her hood. "These'll sell great on the black market." When he didn't respond, she was quick to add, "Of course, twenty percent will go toward the guild bank."

Sethyl tried to laugh, though it would have sounded hollow, even without his helm on. "Forgive me if this is something you've discussed before, but wouldn't it be better if we left all this...looting until the end? While we wait for you to inspect the dead, survivors are alerting the rest of the Keep that we're here."

Wrachette and Haa'aji exchanged a quick glance before they shrugged in unison and went back to their plundering.

As his eye twitched, Sethyl felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sham. "If words could change either of them, they'd be saints by now." She pointed ahead to one of the doors. "Don't worry about those two, they'll catch up when they're needed. In the meantime, the rest of us are moving forward."

Sethyl made it up to the rest of the melee just as Roberts darted forward and snapped the neck of a young magistrix attempting to flee down the nearest corridor. As he did so, he jerked back, bringing her with him to hide beside the doorway. Everyone was still before he finally pushed her limp corpse away from him. He faded out, and the rest of the guild held their breath until he reappeared, in almost the same spot as before.

He sauntered forward a few paces. "There's hardly anyone in the hall." As Gregor frowned, he jabbed Shadow and waited patiently for the tauren to again unfurl their map. "I think they're massing forces here..." he thwacked one of the passages, "and here." He tapped another. "Those are the only two ways into the ballroom—or whatever it is—where Kael'thas seems to spend most of his time."

"Where he keeps court," Gore offered, examining the map carefully. "He hasn't sent anyone after us yet, which makes me think he's waiting to see if we reach him."

"Thank the Light for arrogant fools," Gregor muttered. The guild leader seemed oblivious as Sethyl paused to wonder about why the forsaken would credit anything to the light, after the fate he'd been dealt. However, he kept such thoughts to himself. Gregor eyed the map for another moment before he looked to his co-leader. "Want to just charge in?"

~"~

Wren lay panting on the ground, staring blankly at the twisting streams of magic overhead. He'd never seen a group so quickly overwhelmed, though he had to admit, he hadn't known that orcs actually knew how to make tactful retreats.

"They've stopped searching for us," Liila's soft voice murmured, catching Wren's attention.

Even as he sat up to ask what in the void they were planning on doing now, Haa'aji scowled and kicked the ground. "Le's go back ta de swa'min' buggas 'n off de whole lot a dem. It'd brin' moa moneh dat way."

While Wren was about to object that they'd just get their asses handed to them, he suddenly realized that Tizzle and Cloudless, in kitty form, were just now rejoining the group. Tizzle grinned as he tapped a gadget on his arm. "Invisibility shield. Works ninety-three percent of the time."

Wren didn't have long to puzzle over the needless information, as Tizzle triumphantly drew what looked to be another rolled map from his robes. The goblin unfurled the paper like a flag before setting it on the ground and dropping a few rocks on each corner to keep it open.

Leaning closer, Wren frowned as at first the whole paper seemed to be meaningless scribbles. However, it slowly dawned on him that he was looking at the layout of all the service passages and air ducts and ventilation shafts for the Tempest Keep.

Cloudless sat back on his haunches and curled his tail around his feet before speaking. "There are four ventilation ducts that go over the room we suspect Kael'thas to be plotting in." The lion stuck out his chin, and Tizzle produced a second paper. This one he only bothered to unroll partly. As he did so, he paused to pull a quill out of his robe and circle a large room off one of the halls they'd passed. "Based on elven architecture and culture in Silvermoon, we figure this has got to be his private chambers."

Sethyl had pushed his way forward. "Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me that we just ran head long into the Keep...on a fishing expedition?"

"To distract from one, yes," Shadow said calmly. When both elves looked at him, he shrugged. "As you said, if we just push straight through from the front door, they'll have time to figure out we're coming, and they'll be all over us. They'll draw forces from the nearby manaforges and the other ships, and we'll be cornered and outnumbered. Even with our efforts to clear these places, they're still somehow finding the manpower to keep them running." He paused. "I may not know what fatigue is anymore, but I can promise you our healers do."

"So then," Wrachette started, plopping down beside the maps with enough force to make her ears bob twice. "How are we gonna kill the prince?"

~"~

Wren was on his knees in front of Kael'thas, the prince's sword pressing just hard enough against his throat to start a small trickle of blood.

Talk about a plan backfiring.

The guild had split up into five groups. The first two had headed through the air ducts to rooms almost as large as the prince's court, to make sure there wouldn't be any unexpected arrivals from different wings of the ship as they took down their target. They'd opted to avoid the phoenix in the room just past the foyer, as they'd given it a shot when they first came in and found that it just kept resurrecting itself. With luck, they'd hoped it would stay in its shell, recuperating from the poison that Haa'aji and Roberts had inflicted upon it for the duration of their raid.

Once they had split up, something had jammed the guild stones, breaking off all contact between the groups. While it had made a few uneasy, they had pushed on, with two groups of six heading toward the main room from different directions. The assumption was that if one got lost, the other would still make it to take out their adversaries.

Wren had been left in a smaller group of three, with Tizzle and Enlyhn—who Haa'aji referred to as the 'pretty boy' of the guild, namely because he was probably the only creature in it without any scar on his body, for even Wren, Sethyl, and supposedly Liila sported a few scars here and there.

The trio had been assigned to check on Kael'thas' personal chambers, just to make sure the prince wasn't in them. If he was, they were not to try to off him on their own, but rather make haste back to the main room and alert the rest of the guild.

This would have been well and good, if Tizzle hadn't muttered something about of course it would happen this way when they saw the prince pouring over various scribblings and spells scattered across his desk. While one had to ponder the sanity of a man who would respond to a strange noise in his air vents by tossing a fireball toward them, Kael'thas _had_ been rumored to have lost it.

As the melting ventilation shaft gave way and sent the three tumbling to the ground, Kael'thas rose to meet them, a look of mild irritation gracing his features. Even as Tizzle instinctively cast a heal for the group, Kael'thas nailed him in the stomach with a swift kick and sent the goblin flying into a nearby wall. Tizzle made a quick gasp before slouching forward, unconscious.

Wren and Enlyhn were quick to act, and soon arrows, shadow bolts, and fireballs filled the air. Kael'thas proved faster than any clothie ought to be. Wren had always figured that it was the robes which slowed them down, but this was not the case with the elven prince.

To add to their misfortune, because the mission was supposed to be purely reconnaissance, Enlyhn hadn't bothered with keeping a pet available, figuring it would be easier for three to maneuver than four, and he was hating himself for that practicality now, for Kael'thas was quick to counter any of his summoning attempts.

Enlyhn had never really dealt with blood elves much, having spent most of his life and adventures in Kalimdor. Were he fighting a kaldorei, he would have been well acquainted with their different tricks. However, this proved not to be his night, for his research involving the sin'dorei had been confined to their warlock coven and whether they might have any secrets worth stealing. Thus, the first time he was mana tapped was quite a surprise. 

As the orc kneeled, clutching his windpipe and struggling to breathe, Kael'thas brought his sword down quickly into the warlock's shoulder and then shoved him away as he slumped to the floor.

With a few quick spells, Wren was unarmed and standing uneasily, trapped on the opposite side of the room as the door. Even if he could have made it out, what would have been the point? Run into a few guards and try to say he'd taken a wrong turn?

"On your knees," Kael'thas said calmly, sword held toward Wren. While the elf had to wonder why his prince hadn't killed him yet, he had a sinking feeling whatever mood had grasped him wouldn't last long. After Wren had obliged him, Kael'thas leaned his blade against his captive's throat. "How many more of you are here?"

Wren shrugged. However, while he expected the prince to lash out—hoped really; if the mage was stupid enough to attack him physically, he might be able to get that damned sword away from him—Kael'thas simply shook his head, a knowing smile on his face.

"You're the same lot who came through the front, aren't you?" When Wren didn't respond, Kael'thas flipped his sword around and slammed the hilt into one of Wren's shoulders. He felt his bones tremble and dislocate and fought back a cry. So much for disarming him.

Kael'thas squatted down in front of him, eyes never leaving Wren's face. Somehow, the prince's looked sinister the way the light played on his chiseled features. "Why?"

When Wren seemed puzzled by the question, Kael'thas' smile slipped. "Why do you attack your prince?"

"You betrayed us," Wren finally offered.

"Betrayed you?" Kael'thas arched one of his delicate eyebrows. "I came here to save you. The sin'dorei will rise from the ashes of Silvermoon to be a force to be reckoned with."

"Silvermoon still stands," Wren murmured, feeling as though he were losing consciousness. He broke eye contact with his crazed prince to look down and see a long cut running down his stomach. When had that happened?

"It won't for long," Kael'thas shrugged. He reached out and lifted Wren's chin so that their eyes met again. "Don't you see that we're nothing but a mere shadow of what we were? I can fix that, but we need power. That's all I'm doing here. Getting us the power we need to return to our former glory."

Wren laughed, his world beginning to spin. "Then why do you need to validate yourself to an assassin?"

Kael'thas shot to his feet and smacked Wren to the ground. "I offer you redemption, and you mock me?"

The prince brought his sword down just as the room filled with glowing purple runes racing across the floor and through the air, wrapping around the limp bodies of his would be assassins. As his sword slammed into the floor, they were gone.

Kael'thas let his anger get the better of him as his face contorted with rage. However, quick footsteps caught his attention, and he checked his temper before turning to see an injured blood knight looking about the room in mild horror, confused to see so much blood across his liege's study.

"What is it?" the prince snapped, no longer in a mood to talk.

The blood knight stood at attention, though a few wounds seemed to make it a struggle. "My lord, we were attacked. The generals have been slain...as has the high astromancer."

Even as the prince let the news sink in, another weathered elf darted up beside the blood knight. Her clothes were splattered with blood, though she seemed to be no worse for the wear. "Sir, you have to come quickly!" Even as she paused to look about the prince's study with equal surprise as the first of his minions, Kael'thas forced his way past the two and to his court.

He'd barely had time to examine the damage done in the main room of the Keep when that same lady elf took a few tentative steps toward him. She was pale; apparently this hadn't been the message she'd been sent to give. "Sire..."

It took a moment of prodding to keep her attention focused from the corpses littering the ground, and she finally led Kael'thas to the northern most wing of the keep. As he entered into the largest room in that section of building, Kael'thas abruptly strode past her and looked around the room.

"Where in the twisting nether is my void reaver?"

~"~

Gorelash Hellsblood stood triumphant next to his newest companion, a snow white saber tooth cat with light gray dots running along the length of its body. Duskeh.

It had all started almost a month prior, when dueling outside Orgrimmar had brought a rather unconventional rival: a night elf hunter. Their duel had ended in a tie—okay, not a tie; it would turn out the damnable she-elf had been the forerunner of an Alliance raid on the capital, and her friends had been quick to jump on the chance to off a weakened Horde member.

The cowards.

While Lash had managed to escape with his life, the whole experience had somewhat resulted in a grudge.

Lash was Gore's nephew, though he had practically been raised by his uncle after his father's death. It was because of Lash that Sham had firmly declared she would never have children. He wasn't really sure why, seeing as he'd always tried to keep from being overly needy about anything, but that was that, and Gore was stuck with Lash as a makeshift son.

It wasn't his connection to Gore which had gotten him in the guild, though. Lash had earned his right to walk among heroes and thus had earned the right to use their information network.

With ease, he had tracked down the huntress who had made a fool of him. However, it would have been too easy to simply re-duel her, or even take her life. Instead, he went for what really mattered. She had been watching over a saber cub in Teldrassil for almost two years, waiting for the day she felt it was old enough to tame as a pet of her own.

Getting to Teldrassil hadn't been a problem. Getting to where the damned cub lived, was. Lash had been determined though. For almost two weeks he had climbed the ancient tree. His fingers were torn and bleeding, and his arms felt like he ought to just give up and let go, but he had learned from Gore not to succumb to the weaknesses of mere flesh. He reached the top of Teldrassil and kept right on trekking.

It was easy to find the duskstalker, as the night elf so affectionately referred to the creature. It was at least double the size of the other sabers in the area and—as stated—snowy white against the eternal foliage of the only world it had ever known.

Only after taming the beast did Lash think to rest, allowing himself a brief foray into the realm of dreams as Duskeh sat vigilant over its new master. What he awoke to was icing on the cake.

The huntress had returned to see how her beloved duskstalker was doing.

As Lash sat up, easily mistakable for a lazy peon with neither eye wanting to open all the way and his body all but demanding he rest longer, the huntress stood frozen a few feet away, unable to process that her years of hard work had been for naught. Her mouth hung slightly agape, and one of her eyes kept twitching, her hands half clutching the air in front of her as though to wring a neck.

As Lash gave her a wide grin and mouthed in common, 'Remember Org?', the elf came to her senses and let out a screeching, guttural yell the likes of which the orc had never heard before...and hoped dearly that he never would again.

It was in times like this that Lash was grateful that he was an engineer, for the ride back down the tree was considerably faster. While yes, sometimes he did need to borrow a bit of money just to make his newest toy—perhaps that was why Sham said she wouldn't waste time on another child...though he always paid her and her husband back—it was worth it for a parachute cloak. He strapped an extra one to Duskeh, and the two of them sent themselves vaulting off the edge of the tree, and out of range of the huntress' arrows, as she attacked, trying desperately to save face.

She would have no such luck. Not today.

Duskeh was officially a member of the Horde.


	5. Always Something

Wren sat with Impervious' two warlocks and the death knight, Blood, at one of the less known inns in Orgrimmar, watching as Timmons and Enlyhn gambled for each other’s soul shards.

It had been almost two weeks since the fiasco at Tempest Keep. Kael'thas and his following were in the wind, and those of the guild who weren't tracking him had resumed their day jobs. Mitchell, for example, was back in the Undercity, working on a plague of some sort, and Sethyl had gone back to Silvermoon with a short command that he be informed whenever next they moved. The paladin seemed to hold Wren personally accountable for their failure to kill the prince.

As much as it pained him to know they'd failed, Wren was still happy they'd made it out alive. That meant they would always have a second shot, right? And with most of his strongest players taken out of the picture, the prince would surely be no match for the guild.

Timmons and Margaret had returned to Undercity when Wren's group had failed to show themselves—and as the waves of reinforcements had started to close in on the rest of the guild—and had, through some trick or favor owed, gotten almost half of the coven of the forsaken to pitch in to summon back the rest of the guild. While most summons were optional, they'd chosen to do a forced one, figuring that at least a few people were probably incapacitated and thus unable to accept.

It was lucky for Wren.

When he'd asked if Timmons had to do such things often, the warlock had given him the same stare he was growing so accustomed to seeing from Liila before abruptly walking off to tend to whatever it was he did.

Trying not to see the faces of the trapped souls within the shards as they skidded back and forth across the table, and trying harder not to hear their names as the warlocks raised each other with more important souls, Wren paused.

Blood was overly bored for the most part. While Leafless and Shadow had returned to the death knight's fortress to see if the underworld had any news on the elf prince, Blood had stayed in Orgrimmar. He didn't give a reason why and, not wanting yet another guild member to treat him like an idiot, Wren hadn't asked.

It was his boredom that caused the death knight to notice Wren's thought, possibly the first real one of the day, and he leaned back in his chair. "What's on your mind, elf?"

"I just realized I haven't seen Haa'aji or Liila since the raid."

"Rumor has it Haa'aji's got a new toy," Enlyhn grunted as Timmons laid his hand on the table. The orc frowned and shoved his shards toward his fellow 'lock. Timmons didn't seem angry or pleased, though supposedly if he didn't look angry that meant he was as giddy as a school girl. Wren wasn't sure how much of Haa'aji's explanations he believed.

The farstrider drummed his fingers slowly. "What about Liila? Is she helping with his...toy?"

Enlyhn glared at his hand before abruptly shrugging and placing it face down. "You didn't hear?" When the other three gave him curious looks, he frowned. "Because the prince escaped, Gore and Gregor decided to use the oldest trick in the book. Sex appeal. Liila's been sent to infiltrate Kael'thas' inner circle...through any means necessary."

As Blood made a comment about good for her, getting some from a prince, Wren's jaw dropped in horror. "She's a high elf, though! They'll be able to tell that before they even see her! When was she sent out to do this? Maybe we can still—"

The other three erupted into laughter. Blood collapsed against the table, pounding his fist so hard that everything on the wooden surface jumped. Gobber took a few nervous steps from its corner toward the group and a grotesque, hopeful smile slipped across its rotting lips...obviously the creature wanted to be included in the joke.

As Timmons rasping cackle subsided, the forsaken shook his head slowly. "Wren, we don't even know where the prince is. How would we send Liila to spy on him, hmm?"

As Wren tried to hide his embarrassment and tapped two mana crystals in quick succession under the table, Blood slowly managed to reel in his amusement. "In all seriousness, I think Liila's down in Silithus, visiting her lover."

Wren wore his suspicion openly. He wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. Even so, he had to ask. "Lover?"

"Are we really going to gossip like a bunch of housewives?" Blood asked, arching a scarred eyebrow. Gobber made a soft gurgling noise from the corner he'd been banished to and the death knight turned to glare at it.

Timmons however, looked over his cards and shrugged. "Liila suffers from a curse. She's traveled the world trying to find anyone who can help her break it. Her quest inevitably led her to the druids."

As Wren looked at the warlock, puzzled, Blood rolled his eyes. "Little Liila's got a thing for purple skin, long green hair, and leaf accessories."

"Really," Wren murmured, half asking, half debating whether he even believed them.

Blood frowned. "Really. We've told her she should drop it, but she doesn't listen."

Timmons let out a withered sigh. "Even we can't protect her if she's caught betraying the Horde just to have a fling with a night elf."

Despite Wren's mounting curiosity, none of the others would humor him with any further talk on the subject, and his questions were left to fester.

~"~

Wren woke to the feeling of being watched and nearly fell out of his hammock as he turned his head to the side to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes watching him. As memories of Silvermoon being overrun with the Scourge flashed through his mind, he let out a sharp cry and flipped out of bed to land bare foot with his bow pointed toward Margaret.

She stood up and blinked at him once, then twice. Then she laughed and looked up at a tauren towering over her. "Told you I could get him up."

Cloudless watched as Wren tried to get control of his breathing before offering him an apologetic shrug. "You sleep like the dead."

Wren frowned as he stepped around his hammock to his belongings and shoved his feet into his boots. He was beginning to smell like an orc, and it was driving him crazy. His guild mates didn't seem to notice, and for some reason, that made it worse.

When the elf had properly dressed himself and tapped a few more mana crystals than usual, Cloudless leaned down in an attempt to reach the elf's eye level. "Whisper and I have business in a place called Maraudon. Gregor and Margaret are coming with us, and we were wondering if you'd want in on it."

Even with little else to do, Wren was reluctant to agree. Despite the fact that Margaret hadn't meant anything by it, his memories had been stirred and—no matter how many people bitched that everyone had lost someone or that people shouldn't succumb to their fears—seeing so many cut down by corpses _was_ rather traumatic, to say the least. However, once he asked where this Maraudon was and learned it was all the way in Desolace, he perked up, fairly certain that the undead presence there would be miniscule, if anything at all. Perhaps after killing a few elementals he would feel amicable again.

Gregor and Whisper had headed there already and were quick to throw out summons. Having not expected to be whisked away so soon, Wren was in an even worse mood once he realized he had almost no arrows left. At this point, Gregor had tossed him his gun, along with a meager collection of pellets, saying there wasn't much point in trying to find someone to drag him back to Org to get arrows if he had a makeshift weapon already here.

The way into the elemental's sanctum was already partially cleared, seeing as Gregor and Whisper had had more than a little free time whilst Margaret and Cloudless had tracked down someone to help them. In fact, they'd been just about ready to four man the place when they'd thought of Wren.

After trekking down to Shadowtusk Village and leaving their mounts to be tended by the locals, the five had headed into the depths.

He had to say that he was pleased to be included, but couldn't help but wonder if they'd asked Sethyl before coming to him. Even so, the further into the depths they traveled, the less Wren felt like a social leper, almost forgetting the whole debauchery at Tempest Keep.

It wasn't until after they had spent a good time fleeing from strangely corrosive monsters while trying to off them at a distance that they decided to rest. They'd been hacking their way down for almost a full day, wandering paths for hours only to find that they came to a dead end and having to turn back. It was amazing how many wrong turns they seemed to take.

Tired, they decided that perhaps their break would last for the night, and they would pick up their quest in the morning. Wren offered to take the first watch. The others let him, having noted that he seemed to beat himself up over what he felt to be his shortcomings against Kael'thas and assuming that he was trying to prove himself worthy or make up for what had happened.

In truth, Wren was fascinated by the world they'd found themselves in. They'd camped just short of a winding path that led down the rock face into a giant, cavernous room, with a large waterfall to one side and strange plants growing up through the stone of the floor. He chose to stay up first so that he would have some time to himself to look around.

He always felt more at peace in nature, something his family had often looked down on. His elder brother would often call him a kaldorei and ask about his druid training, which always led to fights that Wren always lost. The one time he'd almost beaten his brother, their father had stepped in. That hadn't ended well for him.

"Something troubling you?"

Wren hadn't realized he'd been frowning until he heard the voice beside him. Cloudless was sitting beside him, staring off at the waterfall in the distance.

With a shrug, Wren tried to play it off. "It's nothing."

The tauren turned to eye him for a long moment. "Kael'thas getting away wasn't your fault, you know. If it had just been Gore, Sham, and Gregor, they still would have lost. If we'd known he was in his chambers we wouldn't have sent you so ill prepared."

"Thank you," Wren murmured, shifting awkwardly. He considered the truth of the words before finally shrugging. "I wasn't...I just feel like I could have done more."

Cloudless laughed. "You and everyone else." He leaned toward him conspiratorially. "You should have seen Gore when he realized the prince wasn't where we thought he'd be."

Wren gave his guild mate a half smile. However, when he looked at Cloudless, he noticed the tauren seemed concerned. His smile slipped as he cocked his head. "What is it?"

Cloudless drew in a breath slowly, held it, and then exhaled with equal care. "I just...wanted to ask. It might be nothing, but...how are you getting along in the guild? Do you feel welcome?"

With a blink, Wren shrugged. "Everyone's nice enough. Why? Is there a reason I shouldn't feel welcome?"

Cloudless rolled his shoulders, one and then the other. "Er, no. I shouldn't have said anything..." When Wren prodded, the tauren sighed. "I just know that Haa'aji and his little circle can be..." Cloudless searched for the right word before finally giving up. "They don't always see that their jokes can hurt people. I just wanted to make sure they weren't being total pricks."

Wren tried to choke back his laughter. "Haa'aji was actually rather helpful...well, sort of. He introduced me to half the guild, or rather, gave me odd little lectures on people."

Cloudless paused at that, musing quietly. "Perhaps he's over that whole elf thing, then."

"What elf thing?" Wren felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

"What? Oh, nothing. Just Haa'aji being Haa'aji." Cloudless hesitated before half laughing as he shook his head. "You haven't really seen what he's capable of yet, but give it a few weeks. Once he's tired of his new toy, I'm sure he'll be back in Orgrimmar, making trouble."

Despite Wren's curiosity, Cloudless merely sent him to bed, offering to take the next watch.

~"~

Wren nailed a basilisk between the eyes and smirked to himself. While a bow was by far his weapon of choice, he wasn't bad with a gun either, and he was getting better and better the more he practiced. Unfortunately, Cloudless had been in mid-charge, and one of the creature's brethren was already running past the tauren toward Wren. Gregor stepped in, cutting the creature off and slamming his axe into its side.

It turned out that their little adventure apparently lacked the difficulty that his guild mates were used to operating on, and so Cloudless had demanded he tank, even though he was really a restoration druid. This led to more than a few slip ups.

Even as Wren offered a quick apology, Whisper laughed and jokingly jeered at the bear. "C'mon. You call that tanking? Shadow could do circles around you!"

While Wren knew that Shadow was one of the guild's three main tanks, Gore being the first and foremost and then the death knight and Gregor often working as off tanks, somehow that all slipped his mind. He instead found himself thinking back to one of the things Haa'aji had told him. "Was Shadow a tank when he was a druid, too?"

Instantly the smiles on the others' faces vanished.

After one of the most awkward pauses of Wren's life, Gregor coughed into one of his hands and motioned with his axe down the tunnel. "Let's see how fast we can get through this. Chain pull?"

Cloudless was already charging along down the hall, with Whisper close on his heels.

As Gregor hurried after them, Wren felt a hand land on his shoulder. Margaret shook her head at him sympathetically. "There are some things you don't want to mention. Shadow's existence prior to his unlife being one."

"Why is that so bad?" Wren asked, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Walk with me," Margaret motioned after the receding forms of their companions. As the two began a slow pace in pursuit, she sighed. "So. The tauren are...they have probably the most angst of any group in the guild." She nudged him and gave him a quick wink. "Hard to believe when they're up against the living dead, right?" When he only gave her a faint, uneasy smile in return, she shrugged it off. "Whisper and Shadow were in love...before Shadow was raised as a death knight. Really, they still are." She frowned, peering ahead. "It's just neither can get past the whole necrophilia thing." She glanced at him again. "Honestly, I don't think I could, either. I mean, if some breather was into me, that'd mean he had to have some seriously kinky issues."

As Wren plodded awkwardly along beside her, she continued. "But I digress. They were in love, and now they don't know what to do with themselves. To make matters worse, Leafless is in love with Shadow, too. She thinks he should be with her, because they're both undead." She took in a long, ragged breath that sounded more like something dragging over a rough floor. "And Whisper...it hurts her to think it, but she agrees with Leafless. If there's a chance Shadow can be happy, it'd probably be with his fellow death knight." She rolled her yellow gaze up at Wren. "It's just that no one can figure out how to move forward, and their relationships are frozen in time."

"They'll have to move forward eventually," Wren murmured, careful not to speak too loudly, as they were catching up with the other three.

"It's not like they haven't tried. But you can't really control love, right? And they're all still in love with someone they can't have." Margaret laughed. "Except for Cloudless. He's got a steer back home in Thunder Bluff. Though, I hear they had a fight right before he headed to Outland." She shrugged. "You probably shouldn't bring that up, either."

Even as Wren opened his mouth to ask her about her choice of words for Cloudless' lover, her finger tips lit up with flames. "Look alive, elf. We have things to kill and places to be."

~"~

Sethyl strode into Whisper's Vials and stopped when he saw Liila restocking one of the shelves. He had to wonder if she wasn't a halfling or something of the like. She dressed in such plain, human-esque clothes.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice as lifeless as ever. Even the forsaken sounded more animated around her.

He frowned as he stood in the doorway. He still wasn't sure how he felt about being in a guild with a high elf. What good could she possibly do for the Horde? Work as a spy? But with everyone knowing her so well, it seemed like any Alliance spies would have already noted her activities in Orgrimmar.

She finished with one shelf and then moved on to the next, apparently unconcerned that he hadn't bothered to wish her well in return. He took a few steps into the building, feeling awkward suddenly.

"Any word on the prince?"

Liila's shoulders went up and dropped back down in a blasé manner. As she finished putting up a crate of vials, she picked up the empty box and turned back toward the counter. "I only just came back to Orgrimmar myself. Sham said Whisper was out and that she needed me to run the shop until someone can come take over, tomorrow."

"I wonder if she's with Wren," Sethyl murmured, though he stopped when he realized that his comment had warranted the full attention of his guild mate. He fought back a shiver as she stared him down. "Wren's not at the inn."

"You could always message him," Liila offered, losing interest and dropping the crate behind the counter, only to pick up another and walk over to a different shelf. Sethyl watched her for a long moment, his anger slowly boiling.

Choosing not to let her get the better of him, he sauntered over to the door that led to the guild's hall. After walking for what seemed like forever, he was met with utter disappointment to see that no one was in it. He considered looking through the different items along the back wall, perhaps making something to idle away some time, but decided against it and headed back upstairs.

It wasn't right. His people had been through so much, had sacrificed so much. The ones who had given in, who had run with their tails between their legs to beg the Alliance for forgiveness...those were the high elves. They were traitors.

He felt himself growing impatient with her silence. Did she think him some nuisance who would leave if she ignored him long enough?

He walked up next to her and lifted the crate so that she wouldn't have to lean down so far to reach the potions...and so that she would have to acknowledge his presence for at least a while.

"Thank you."

It was barely audible, and he wondered if an orc's ears would have even been able to pick it up. He frowned. Looking inside the box, he inspected the different liquids within the vials. "Did you make these?"

"Yes."

Silence.

He fidgeted, and a few of the vials clinked together. As Liila cast him a look—all of her looks were the same as far as he could tell; he almost wondered if she had different emotions, though he'd never heard of an elf with such an affliction—and he tried to stand as still as possible.

Sethyl waited until she'd emptied the crate and then walked it back to the counter, setting it on top. Liila followed him and stepped around it, opening the wooden doors on the back and rearranging the display case.

A pair of orcs wandered into the store, the first customers Sethyl had ever seen, and he wandered away from them as Liila gathered their order. Little placards sat in front of some of the potions, while a few in harder to reach spots remained nameless. One bubbled an ominous purple, and he took a few steps back, not trusting what was in it.

As the orcs left, one casting Sethyl a curious look whilst the other was busy inspecting their purchases, he wandered back over to her. "They didn't seem startled to see a high elf."

Liila grew still, one of her hands on a sprig of blindweed. At length, she set it down and began to rearrange the herbs again. "I have lived here for almost three years. Most everyone is used to seeing me."

Sethyl slouched against the counter, frowning. "The sin'dorei didn't join the Horde until five months ago...almost six."

"I am aware."

"So why join the Horde?" Sethyl couldn't help himself. "Why not go to the Alliance?" _Like the other traitors._ He paused. "By the Light, why not come back to Silvermoon? Three years ago, we hadn't turned to fel magics yet."

She didn't offer an answer, instead finishing her arrangements and shutting the counter doors. She stacked the two empty crates and slid them to one side before wandering back toward the table in the back of the shop. Sethyl's eyebrow twitched, and he strode after her, reaching the table as she did.

She merely breezed past it to a small cabinet wedged into the corner of the store. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out two small cups and set the table. When she noticed Sethyl's perplexed stare, she walked back to the lab.

"If you're staying for a while, I thought you might like tea."

He blinked several times. When she emerged, holding the same kettle that Whisper had used the first time he'd ever been in the shop, he felt something snap. "You're just going to ignore my questions? I think I've a valid reason for asking them. Honestly, how am I to trust someone who won't talk to me?"

"So don't trust me," she said, her voice still a perfect monotone.

Sethyl considered stalking out of the shop, but decided against it and instead took a seat, begrudgingly. This place was his best bet for meeting up with another guild mate. To the void with the little high elf. She wouldn't scare him off with her despicable attitude.

~"~

"What were you before you were a paladin?"

Sethyl blinked back his surprise and turned to stare at Liila. Her eyes were on her cup, and she was so still...if he didn't trust his hearing so well, he'd have thought he imagined the question. After watching her for another moment to see if she would hint at interest, he shrugged. "I was a priest."

He watched her, expecting her to react in some way. Instead, she merely sipped her tea. It wasn't until he was slipping back into his thoughts that she spoke again. "I wonder if we ever worked together. When we were both priests in Silvermoon."

"I think I'd remember you," he muttered, though he snapped his mouth shut as her felt her gaze on him. He took a long gulp of tea and covered the cup with his hand when she offered him more. "Is anyone coming by today? Other than customers?"

Liila shrugged, her gaze wandering away from him. "If you would like, I can give you Sham's address. You can speak with her about any leads in regards to Kael'thas. Though..." she trailed off as he glowered. "That is why you came back to Orgrimmar, is it not?"

He met her gaze for a breath before slouching back in his chair. "I suppose it is."

"You needn't stay here, then," Liila murmured. "We will alert you when we plan to strike against him again."

"I'm not going to just sit idly back and wait," Sethyl snapped. "There has to be something I can do."

"And you think loitering in an alchemy shop with someone you despise to be more productive than staying home and training?" When he seemed taken aback by her comment, she rose to her feet and took his cup and hers back into the side room. As she reentered the main room, she said, "I hope you did not think you were hiding your hatred of me, when it is so brilliantly placed upon your sleeve."

"Maybe I wouldn't hate you," he started, before he could stop himself, "if you would just stop acting like you think you're better than me and answer my damn questions."

She paced past him to the counter with a soft rag and ran it over the surface slowly. "The elven ego is intriguing. I do not answer your irritating queries, and you assume it is because of you. Perhaps I do not like the answers myself." She turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Or perhaps I do not have them at all."

Sethyl frowned and stomped up to her, moving in front of her and blocking her path. "Is this some sort of joke? You chide me with riddles and insults, simply because I'm trying to get to know you better—"

"No," she put a finger to his lips. "I 'chide you with riddles and insults' because you seek a reason to expel me from my home." Even as Sethyl felt himself losing in some fight he hadn't realized himself to be in, she let her hand drop back to her side. "I am with the Horde because I am. To join the Alliance now would be to betray the ones who have become my family—Haa'aji, Shadow, Timmons, Sham, Gore...everyone. I do not think it fair that you arrogant fools join my family and then expect me to leave because you don't like my eye color. I have served the Horde better than your entire city combined, but in the end you plan to drive me out with a mere numbers game."

Sethyl's mouth hung open, despite himself. However, as she stepped past him, he heard a soft, crackling cackle behind them. He turned to see that Liila had stopped in her tracks, her blank expression on the door. Timmons and Enlyhn stood in the doorway, the orc shaking his head with a look of amusement while the forsaken had a broad, creepish grin across his lips. Timmons' hood turned to look over Sethyl quickly before he sauntered in and stopped in front of Liila.

"If Gore catches you talking like that, you'll be in trouble." The warlock's grin stayed in place as he slipped past her and walked to one of the shelves, reaching up to pull down one of the unmarked vials. "No starting fights with guild members, remember?"

Enlyhn wandered to a different shelf, equally amused. "Can you blame her? After the way the other elves treated her when they came?"

Before Sethyl could inquire what they were talking about, Liila pivoted about and walked up to Timmons, pulling a small key from her shirt and dropping it into the potion he was examining. Even as the forsaken's smile slipped, Liila strode out the door.

"Be sure to keep watch of the shop. You know Sham and Whisper don't like it unattended."

Before Timmons could protest, Sethyl started after Liila and Enlyhn gave him a quick grin from outside the shop, already a safe enough distance away that he couldn’t be roped into staying as well. Timmons eyed the door as his fellow ‘lock disappeared from view and wandered to the edge, peering out. The other three had already vanished from sight.

With a slow grin returning, he turned around and began to rearrange the potions, slipping similar ones into each others' slots. Healing potions replaced rage potions and vice versa. Just as he started to pour an invisibility potion in with a mana one, Blood walked into the shop and stopped.

The two stared at each other in silence, the mixed potion hissing and bubbling over the brim of the vial to foam down Timmons' fingers. Not wanting any part of whatever was going on, Blood turned to leave. However, before he could make it to the door, Gobber wandered in, twitching. Timmons dropped the key into Gobber's hands and slipped out passed the creature, waving a rotting hand and then flipping the death knight and his ghoul the bird.

Blood stared out after the bastard before sighing and looking around the shop. "How much damage do you think he did?"

Gobber merely gurgled as he held up the key and stared at it in awe, as though he'd been handed a most precious treasure.

Blood ran his hand down his face. "Fucking warlocks...."

~"~

Sethyl was surprised to find how fast Liila could walk. He almost lost her twice before she finally stopped in front of a small hovel near the end of the Valley of Wisdom. It wasn't until she was slamming the door behind her that he realized this had to be her house. Sethyl glanced awkwardly at a few guards who were moseying down the road toward him and then walked up to the house and knocked on the door.

He'd rapped his knuckles against the door twice when it swung open. He barely had time to stop himself from knocking against Liila's shoulder. She stared blankly up at him.

"Yes?"

He blinked. Sethyl hadn't really thought about what he was doing. Rather, he had just done it. Like when he came back to Orgrimmar. He hadn't known why. Liila stared up at him for a long moment. "You wish for answers to your questions?"

Sethyl blinked. After a moment, he shifted his weight slowly. "Yes."

Liila fastened a small tote bag over one shoulder so that it's sash went diagonally across her chest. "I've an errand to run. Accompany me, make sure the goods I need to transport come to no harm, and I will tell you anything you like."

Sethyl eyed her and frowned. It seemed too perfect a set up. However, Liila was determined for him to make up his mind quickly. She lightly pushed him back a step and slipped past him into the street. "At least close my door when you leave."


	6. Pretty Boy

 

Enlyhn stared in the mirror for a long stretch before running his fingers over his shoulder for the nth time. The scar from the wound Kael'thas had given him was still there. It was barely visible; when he'd appeared in the Undercity, he'd instantly gotten hit with four chain heals.

Even so, it was there. His perfect body was ruined.

While he knew he could easily use the scar to his advantage when courting ladies, it just wouldn't be the same. There was something about his boyishly good looks that screamed innocence and made ladies feel safe when the curled up in bed with him. And seeing as he kept almost all of his warlock paraphernalia locked safely in a hidden chamber in his basement, they had little reason to think him anything dangerous. While orcish culture might revere battle and honor, his guild mates were always surprised by how many ladies fell to Enlyhn's charms. Hell, rumor was that he'd even experimented beyond orcs with other races, from night elves to humans to trolls...but then, a gentleman never tells.

Enlyhn slipped a silky shirt over his shoulders and buttoned it up quickly. While he still looked perfect in the mirror, he felt his blemish as though it had just been inflicted. His imp sat on his bed, its chin cupped in one of its hands as it stared blankly at its master. Of all the sadistic bastards he could have come to work for, why did it have to be the highest maintenance orc in Azeroth and beyond?

The imp's eyes widened as Enlyhn's face suddenly appeared in its line of vision, mere inches away. "Am I boring you?"

As the imp floundered for a reply, Enlyhn let out a deep sigh and shook his head, merely sending a shadow bolt into the small creature and banishing it back into the nether. He didn't have time to waste on trivial matters, like a minion's opinion. He knew he looked damn good.

Not that it mattered. Tonight would not be a lucky one for the ladies. Instead, he had a mission in life. Tonight, he was coming for Sham.

~"~

Gore, Sham, and Lash—finally returned from his trip—had just sat down to enjoy their dinner when the rapping started. While Lash had considered going to see who it was, Gore had seemed to sense something amiss and told him to let it be. If whatever the matter was that urgent, whoever it was would shout through the door.

The rapping had not stopped in almost ten minutes.

Finally, Gore rose to his feet and irritably stalked to the door. He barely swung it open long enough to see who it was before grunting a quick, "Go to hell," and closing it back.

It should be noted that, while doors were not a major part of orcish architecture, they were steadily becoming more and more popular, namely for businesses and anyone who'd dealt with Haa'aji. It was somewhat reassuring that the rogue would have to at least work a little bit for whatever he wanted out of one's house. Though, admittedly, window panes were still more an Alliance 'thing' than Horde, which made the doors more for decoration than anything.

Well, decoration and incessant knocking.

When Sham asked Gore to go to the door again, he merely frowned. "Why don't you have your elemental answer it?" He grumbled as he tried to enjoy his meal. The look she gave him was enough to send chills down the seasoned veteran's spine, and Lash and Duskeh had to fight back the urge to cower in a corner. Lash'd had to argue something awful to get them to let his pet into the house; while the commander's home was comfortable, with even an upstairs bedroom, it was still rather crowded for three grown orcs...and adding a saber to the mix didn't help.

With a pointed sigh, as though he were more exasperated than intimidated—honestly, who would admit to being unnerved by their wife?—he went back to the door and opened it again.

Enlyhn met his gaze and barely missed a beat before saying, "I've been there. Twice. It's not as bad as you'd think." As Gore tried to remember what the warlock was talking about, Enlyhn ignored him and merely frowned. "I want your wife."

Gore ran his fingers along his forehead and rubbed his temples slowly. "If this is about that stupid, pitiful scar, then leave. Be thankful she healed you at all."

Enlyhn stared up at his commander, taking in his graying hair, the slight slouch in his shoulders that implied he might not have more than another five years in the service, the scars—some faint, some pronounced—which crisscrossed his bare arms and ran across the bridge of his nose. His frown deepened. "No."

Gore had been about to close the door when the warlock responded. If he'd learned anything after making the guild, it was that certain types of people had different attributes. Rogues were self-serving. Shamans and druids were nurturers. Hunters were perceptive.

Warlocks were patient and surprisingly thorough. He had once seen Timmons camp a dwarf hunter's corpse for nearly a month, just to make sure the little creature wasn't feigning death. In the end, he'd fireballed the festering mass of flesh into the next world, just to make sure.

That is why, instead of simply closing the door and waiting for Enlyhn to grow bored and seek out the nearest partner who would have him, Gore merely turned toward his wife and jerked his head toward the door.

Perplexed as she was, Sham rose quietly to her feet and plodded over, though her expression became as irritated as her husband's had been earlier when she saw their caller. She put her hands on her hips as she eyed the warlock. "What do you want?"

Enlyhn fought back his fear. He'd master fel lords and dark arts...he played with souls as though they were mere toys...so why was he so afraid of a single orcess? He narrowed his eyes as he watched Gore saunter back to his dinner, though he didn't let his attention linger, as he had a goal to reach. As he felt Sham's eyes refuse to leave him, Enlyhn didn't bother with a smile. The married creature was somehow immune to his charms. "Fix me."

Sham's expression looked similar to Haa'aji's when someone asked him a question—any question. It conveyed messages faster than any words could, saying, "The fuck is wrong with you? Why would you even assume I should acknowledge those guttural noises you claim as words?" without a single breath.

Enlyhn shifted his weight uneasily. "Please?"

As her shoulders relaxed in exasperation more so than pity, Sham almost told Enlyhn to drop that hopeful look where he'd found it. "I already fixed you."

"My body was perfect...immaculate. And now...it's ruined," Enlyhn said calmly, though for him it was pretty damn close to pleading.

Sham almost shut the door in his face, but stopped. It wasn't that she felt some deep sympathy for the orc in front of her, but rather an inkling that should she turn the warlock away now, he would do what he could to take one of the most important things away from her, debatably on par with her family—the balance of nature. She'd seen warlocks on the rampage, and while they always ended up six feet under, with their demons vying over who got to devour their soul, they could take a lot out with them before they went down.

And besides, Enlyhn was useful in the guild.

"Show me the scar," Sham murmured, fighting back the urge to roll her eyes as Enlyhn's face lit up enthusiastically. At times like this, it was hard to believe he was a master of darkness. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his collar to one side to show her his shoulder, and she nearly smacked him.

She could hardly see the scar he was obsessing over. After closing her eyes for a long moment and willing herself not to give him a taste of _her_ fire, she murmured a quick healing spell. While most might consider it a waste of magic to focus so much energy on mending already healed flesh to the point that it looked exactly as it had before the injury—even the sin'dorei seemed to draw the line of vanity before wasting this much effort—she decided it was better than having a mini apocalypse in her front yard.

Enlyhn eyed his shoulder for a long moment, turning a little to make sure the light didn't catch on any uneven flesh. When he was content that he had been returned to perfection he gave Sham a quick wink. Before he could offer a word of thanks, or button back his shirt, she slammed the door shut.

He didn't let it get to him though. Instead, he twisted about and headed toward one of the local bars. Honestly, he'd expected the shaman to put up more of a fight over healing him, but things seemed to be looking up. Perhaps tonight would go better than he had planned.

~"~

Whilst Enlyhn lived it up in his earthly existence, Genji found himself at dinner in another part of the city, trying to enjoy some quiet time betwixt adventures with Khai'rhi and Ta'lim. Like Sham, Khai'rhi was loathe to have pets in her home, and insisted that her brother keep his in the stable a few buildings down.

Ta'lim's raptor let out another wail, and the trio tried to ignore it. He'd just gotten the creature less than a day before Haa'aji had dragged him out to Stonetalon, and he'd yet to name it. The creature let out another wail. Still unused to captivity, it was uneasy to be without its master in such a strange place.

Khai'rhi nearly slammed her cleaver into the fish she'd just cooked. Instead, however, she simply turned, strode over to the others, and dropped it rather harshly on the table. "De neabas gon ta be bitchin' 'bout ya damn pet."

"Dat be why Ah took 'im ta de stables, mon," Ta'lim muttered, annoyed as well. "Ya let me brin' him home 'n dea won' be no problem."

"Get ya own house 'n ya can keep all ya pets wit' ya," Khai'rhi said with a warning smile as she sat down.

Ta'lim took his share of dinner and snapped through a bone with his teeth as he eyed his sister. Did she have to be such a bitch in front of company? Though Genji really counted more as family as of late, seeing how often he was around. "Maybeh Ah be doin' dat."

In truth, neither really wanted the other to move out. Their parents had died when they had fled their home in Stranglethorn to come to the Echo Islands, and the two had been all each other had for almost as long as they could remember. While they might fight often, it was never about anything overly serious.

Khai'rhi glared at her brother for his rudeness and motioned for Genji to take what he wanted, as a proper host ought to. The mage nodded and settled in to eat. He was used to the duo's outbursts and knew it best to let them fight it out without interruption. Even Gregor and Gore knew better than to get between the two. In fact, the only one who would was Sham, and that was just to shut them up if they went off during a strategy meeting or a matter of equal importance.

Genji was another orphan, though he had somehow never met the two until they'd come to Orgrimmar. They hadn't met until they joined the guild, and even then, they'd barely talked until one day Khai'rhi had asked for help with some quests in Stranglethorn. Once the two had gone back to their old home, they'd been ecstatic to be able to peruse memory lane with someone. They'd spent an extra four days in Stranglethorn, recounting childhood adventures.

By the time they returned to Orgrimmar, Ta'lim had found he'd all but gained a brother. It had been a few years since then, and the trio were still together, though there had been a rough patch a few months ago.

One night, Genji had abruptly left and had been almost impossible to get a hold of for nearly three months. In fact, he had only just come home to Orgrimmar before their adventures at the Keep.

Khai'rhi had given him the silent treatment, angry that he would just leave without a word, but finally her brother had broken the tension by dragging Genji over—Ta'lim had had to listen to her rant about all the things that must've happened to their beloved mage for the duration of the troll's absence, and he sure as hell didn't want Genji disappearing again. Sure, when he'd invited him over, he'd kind of told him Khai'rhi would be out, but it was for the greater good.

That had been over a week ago and now, once again, Genji practically lived with them, though he seemed different. Uncomfortable even. While Ta'lim tried to write it off, Khai'rhi seemed annoyed by the change in their old friend.

They sat in silence, only the sounds of chewing to go with their meal. At last, Ta'lim couldn't take it. He playful nudged Genji. "Hey, mon. Ya wan ta be roommates? Dea be a great place jus' ova da way. De soldia dea died fightin' de demons in Outland 'n his home be up fa grabs."

While he had just intended to start a conversation—yes, maybe he wanted to see Khai'rhi sweat a bit at the thought of really living alone—instead his sister jerked to her feet and stormed out into the night. Both his and Genji’s jaws hung slack, fully displaying their half eaten food.

Khai'rhi didn't know where she was going until she found herself banging her fist on Sham's door.

As Gore opened it, his most annoyed face in place to tell Enlyhn he could go shove it, Khai'rhi pushed past him into his house. Even as her guild leader tried to ask what was going on, Sham walked down from their bedroom, and Khai'rhi flung herself toward the orcess, bursting into tears.

With a mere look, Gore jabbed Lash awake, and they headed out with Duskeh, knowing that they were either going to be sleeping outside or at a friend's.

In the meantime, it took Sham almost ten minutes to calm Khai'rhi down to the point that she was confident she could both understand her and keep her from breaking something in her home. As the troll sniffled from her seat beside the table, Sham poured them each a mug of tea and came back over. While Khai'rhi stared miserably into her drink, Sham cocked her head.

"Now then, what's all this about?"

Despite there being an almost twenty-year age difference between the two, Khai'rhi had always seen Sham as a best friend, while most of the guild looked at her as a mother. Another reason Sham refused to have children. Khai'rhi let her shoulders slump. "Ta'lim be talkin' 'bout leavin' meh now. If he goes, so'll Genji."

Sham furrowed her brow, slightly confused. Khai'rhi was a strong troll, who didn't really need either of the others in question to get by. "You mean...Ta'lim wants his own place?"

Khai'rhi nodded.

With a half smile, Sham reached out and patted the troll's hand. "That's not so bad then. Just think, without him around, you could finally do things the way you've always wanted to. And you wouldn't have to cook every night. And even if you did, it could always be things you like."

Khai'rhi was silent for a long moment, and Sham began to wonder if she shouldn't have tried to put a positive spin on whatever had happened. Finally, Khai'rhi took a long sip from her tea and sighed. "Ah told Genji Ah lov'd him."

Sham nearly joked on her own drink.

However, Khai'rhi didn't notice. She was already ready to cry again. "'n ya know wat dat basta'd did? He left! Gone fa t'ree months. Den he come back 'n won' even look at meh, much less talk 'bout wat happened." Tears pricked her eyes as they flashed red for a moment. "'n now, Ta'lim be springin' dat he wan ta go live wit' Genji ova meh?"

Even as Sham tried to think of what to say, Khai'rhi tightened her grip on her mug, sending small cracks over its surface. "Ah spen' meh whole life takin' care a dat boy. Keepin' him safe, like mudda wann'ed." She fell silent for a moment, her anger gone. "Ah jus'...wann'ed a family a meh own. Ah taught Genji be wan'in' dat too, but he ran so fas'."

Sham slid over beside her friend and put her arm around Khai'rhi's shoulders. "It'll be alright." As Khai'rhi looked at her miserably, obviously not convinced, Sham smiled gently. "Men are stupid, stupid creatures, and half the time they don't think about what they do. Give both of them time and see what happens. If Ta'lim wants to move out, let him. He'll be so lost without you that he'll be back in a week. And Genji...if he doesn't know what a good thing he had, he's just a moron." She squeezed Khai'rhi's shoulders. "We'll use him as a meat shield next raid."

Khai'rhi nodded slowly, looking down and finally noticing that she'd broken Sham's mug. With a sigh, she released the poor cup. "Ah tink we should scare dem bot'. Nah heals next raid 'til dey 'bout ta drop."

With a grin, Sham nodded firmly. "Agreed."


	7. In the Meantime

Mitchell sat at one of the most rundown, unpopulated taverns in the Undercity, carefully reading over the notes for his latest failed experiment. How was it the Lich King could take out a fifth of the known world, yet he couldn't even make a plague from scratch that could taint a bunny? His fingers dug into the page he was holding as he thought about that fluffy little creature and the way it mocked him with its good health. He dismissed thoughts of the laughter in the rodent's large eyes as it came to his attention that he was being watched.

He lowered his papers to see Roberts had taken the seat opposite him. When Mitchell nodded to him, the deathstalker slid an ale across the table. Mitchell quickly shuffled his papers together and then dropped them to one side, not bothering to try and hide them. If he made them seem important, the rogue would just come up and look at them at some later point in time...if he hadn't already. Judging from the size of the ale, it could have easily been a 'I'm sorry your quest to damn the rest of the world went awry...again' gift.

The two drank in silence for a time before Mitchell finally sighed. It was debated that Roberts could probably live the rest of eternity without making a sound, and it was times like these that seemed to prove it.

"So how is Tirisfal?" Mitchell finally asked, grinning despite himself.

"I'm a deathstalker, not a deadguard," Roberts murmured, furrowing his brow. He shrugged, quickly recovering from the jibe. Mitchell knew the difference, but liked to imply that Roberts was merely a guard, namely due to the fact that he never strayed too far from the Undercity...except to raid. "I've been to Silverpine. Checking on the Gilneans."

"And?" Mitchell leaned forward, interested. If they could get some fresh subjects to experiment on...

He was tired of having to bring rodents back from Kalimdor.

"All's quiet, as usual."

Mitchell settled back in his seat, and his robes threatened to unravel as he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know why our Lady has you watching them. I think they're dead."

"We'd have more Gilneans in our city, if that were so," Roberts said. His voice rasped more so than most of the forsaken's—probably because he never used it. "Besides," his eyes gleamed eerily, even in Mitchell's opinion, "I've been past the wall."

Instantly Mitchell was leaning across the table, nearly spilling his beer. "Really? Do you think we could try the plague on them? So many of the Scarlet Crusade are infected with the original that it's hard to tell when they die from our plague alone as opposed to the combined forces of both."

"While there is more scouting to be done, I will tell you this: I think they'll be useless to us."

Mitchell slouched back into his seat, disappointed. "I guess I'll just have to make a trip to Southshore in a few days."

"You know the apothecaries in Tarren Mill don't appreciate you stealing from their supply," Roberts mused, raising a boney hand into the air. A waitress with empty eye sockets wandered over to them and refilled their drinks. She seemed more drone than forsaken.

Mitchell frowned as he took a sip of his ale. "Looks like we're about to lose another one."

Roberts nodded once, but said nothing.

Slouching forward more than usual, Mitchell sloshed his drink slowly. "How long do you think we have 'til the rot takes us away, too?"

Pulling his beer up to wrap both hands around it, the deathstalker was quiet for a long moment. "We will be fine. We are active. We force what we have to keep going..." He looked after the waitress. "She's given up, though."

Mitchell sighed. "Can't say I blame her." As Roberts cast him an incredulous look, he shrugged again. "What do we really have to look forward to? Knowing that one day we'll be too deteriorated to move? Knowing that we can never have children or a family? Knowing that we're probably the second most hated race in Azeroth?"

Roberts paused mid sip. "Murlocs?"

Mitchell laughed. "I was gonna say humans. I think half the Alliance secretly hates them as much as we do."

With a grin, Roberts nodded slowly. "True enough." He took a long drink before setting his tankard on the table. "And you can't forget gnolls."

Mitchell raised his hands into the air, palms up. "What can I say? I was just talking about the major players."

A look of mock reprimand in place, Roberts lifted his hand for another round. "Now, Mitchell, is your brain rotting away already? You must be forgetting the rumors of the dreaded Hogger...."

 

~"~

 

Howl stood in the broken and emptied room of Tempest Keep where only a few short weeks ago he and his guild had fought the traitor prince's generals. It was amazing how fast the elves had cleared out of the Keep, though he supposed that they must have felt vulnerable after losing so many of their champions. They had barely even tended to their dead.

As he paused to peer at a pile of charred remains in one corner of the room—ever since the plague, more than a few had turned to burning as opposed to burial, just to be safe—the clopping of hooves caught his attention. He looked up to see Leafless wandering back into the room, flipping through a journal. Her face was grim, but then, she rarely smiled.

Howl had always heard that women had a harder time becoming the living dead, namely because they were more focused on appearances, and that the notion of losing their beauty to rot and decay drove many female forsaken and even a few death knights to suicide. In fact, the only woman he'd ever seen who seemed immune to such worries was Margaret, but then, he often wondered if her cheerful nature was merely a facade to hide her terror of what awaited her.

While he'd never seen Leafless openly fret about her looks, or much of anything for that matter, he had seen her from time to time stop and stare at her reflection. Such moments were generally followed with looks of agony or rage, though they were quickly contained.

Leafless came to a stop beside him and drummed her fingers against the back of the book she was holding.

"He's completely mad, though quite eloquent about it," she murmured as she read a few paragraphs. "It's a shame, really. He's so intelligent; he would have benefitted the Horde."

Howl rose and walked up to her, peering over the pages as she lowered the book so that he could read it with ease. The book held accounts of the different manaforges, as well as their connections with the Keep and how the elves had been refining the magic into ever more potent mana crystals—ones that did more than simply sate a need for magic. Some enhanced spell casting and others, which had only barely begun production, allowed the user to grasp magics beyond their natural control for short times.

The orc shuddered as he considered a priest manipulating flame. Or a warlock casting holy spells and healing himself.

Leafless noted his worry and flipped a few pages ahead. "I wouldn't worry about those...mastery crystals, or whatever they're called. He throws a few different names for them around, though I don't think he'd decided on a real name before we showed up. Only a few dozen were made, and apparently those who tried to use them had very adverse reactions."

With the shake of his head, Howl reached up and flipped a few pages further. "Does it say where he went? Another manaforge somewhere else? Another haven? Did he retreat back to Illidan?"

Leafless gave him an irritated look as she flipped to the last page. "He doesn't even mention that they're leaving the Keep. Probably didn't write in this after our attack...I mean, why else leave this sort of material behind?"

"Because it talks about his failures, not his successes," Howl said in sordid realization.

Leafless' grim disposition returned twice over as she considered any records of the mastery crystals working well being hidden from them. "He knows we're going to come after him, and he wants to give us a taste of what we'll face, without really preparing us."

"Perhaps we can use his arrogance against him," Howl muttered and started walking toward the nearest door. As he heard Leafless ready a protest, he looked over his shoulder and motioned for her to follow. "We won't find any slip ups by looking over Kael'thas' belongings or searching for notes from the generals. I bet you anything that one or two of his lowly followers kept a diary, though. Hopefully, at least one was left behind in their hurry."


	8. Two's A Crowd

Liila and Sethyl sat in a hollowed out tree trunk in the middle of Felwood, rain dismally falling outside. Sethyl had originally decided to let the wench go off on her own, but by the time he'd reached the inn to retrieve his steed and return to Silvermoon, he'd wondered if perhaps it would do him good. While half of his guild mates were crazy, he had been impressed so far with their ability to fight. He thought their strategies could use a bit of work, but then, no one was perfect.

To put an hour's thought process short, he figured that it would better serve both his and their interests if he could put his hatred for Liila aside. What better way to do so than to accompany her? Perhaps if they traveled together, she would lighten up...and she had promised to explain herself, should he assist her.

While he didn't want to be kicked from the guild for discriminating against a senior member, he was having a harder time dealing with her than he'd thought he would. It had been four days, and she had barely spoken to him. Even when he'd caught her as she was leaving town, having had to go at breakneck speed just to catch up, she'd merely looked him over and then kept going.

And what was with that raptor? It didn't look like any of the trolls' mounts and had tried to bite Sethyl _and_ his horse on several occasions. Whenever it started eyeing the paladin and his mount, he learned quickly to comment. While Liila didn't respond, she would go to the side of the road and dismount, letting her raptor roam the woods for a time, presumably to find a meal. Shouldn't she have been feeding it herself? How as she supposed to domesticate the damn thing if she wouldn't even try to control it?

She didn't use a saddle or harness, another matter that baffled Sethyl. For almost a day, he'd wondered if she were somehow a priest-hunter hybrid, but had dismissed the notion at last, deciding that such things didn't exist.

It had been Sethyl's idea to wait out the rain. While Liila didn't seem to care one way or the other, she had obliged him. She didn't wear makeup of any sort and let her hair do as it wanted, though it somehow always dried rather straight, so she had little to worry about in regards to weather messing up her appearance; what elf in their right mind let themselves go like that?

Once they had found their nook, she had allowed Piikiitwo, her raptor, to run off into the woods.  He had to wonder what made the damn thing come back. His horse stood a few feet away, tied up beneath a few low hanging branches, which kept it dry for the most part.

Sethyl chewed on his lip slowly. They were running low on supplies. Hopefully, wherever they were headed was nearby. Just as he wondered if he ought to jot down a list of questions for the quel’dorei beside him, figuring their journey must be near its end, that damnable raptor startled Sethyl's steed, Sunny. Yes, he'd named his horse, but that was normal...not like having a feral raptor with some ridiculously long name....

His thoughts trailed off as Liila flitted out of their hideout and up to Piikiitwo, who was pacing impatiently back and forth in front of them. It let out a soft cry and nuzzled her when she was close enough. Liila ran her fingers down the creature's neck and then hurried back to their hideout, gathering her bags.

"We have to go."

Sethyl followed suit despite himself. However, as he reached for Sunny's reins, he turned to look at Liila, who had already swung herself up onto her raptor's back. "Just because your raptor is getting restless doesn't mean—"

Liila placed a finger against her lips and then moved it to her ears. Before he knew what was happening, she leaned down so that she could whisper to him. "Alliance are nearby. We should leave before they find us."

While Liila's face remained expressionless, something about the fact that she thought it important enough to warn him made him uneasy, and he slipped onto his horse quickly and quietly.

~"~

Shadow lumbered into the guild hall, hoping to find Leafless. She had gone with him to Acherus, though she'd snapped about something he'd said—he honestly had no clue what—and had headed back to Outland without him.

While he had an idea where she had gone, he didn't feel like spending the better part of a week trying to hunt her down, and instead chose to throw himself in with blind luck. So far, it wasn't working.

Leafless wasn't in the guild hall, but Lash was. He looked as though he hadn't gotten any sleep. Shadow eyed the cat curled up beside the orc, and it yawned, unconcerned with the attention.

"Gore finally kick you out?" Shadow asked, joking.

Lash rolled his eyes, though he didn't make an attempt to move. "Khai'rhi was upset last night, so Sham kicked me and Gore to the street...." He glanced lazily about the room, barely able to keep his eyes open. "You just missed Gore, though. He headed home to get ready for work."

Shadow walked over to one of the tables and dropped down into a chair—his chair; very few structures were able to support his weight. With a sigh, he laid his mace across the table and idly inspected it. "We may have a lead on the prince."

"Oh?" The hunter perked up, and his cat followed suit, eager to keep up with its master.

"Apparently both the Scourge and the elves are keeping an eye on some skirmish going on up north...a little island the elves claim as part of their kingdom...Quel'Danas, it's called."

~"~

Sethyl and Liila had been traveling for almost a full twenty-four hours without sleep when they came to the furbolgs. While Sethyl had wondered if the creatures were hostile, Liila had merely ridden up to them and greeted them in a language he'd never heard. It sounded barbaric at best, but he quickly put on a smile when Liila told him to bow to the creature guarding the tunnel and show some respect.  

Though he hadn't been sure it would be worth it, he found that the furbolgs were rather hospitable. In no time, they were being led through the caverns the creatures claimed home by one with pale brown fur. It chattered away at Liila for a time, with the woman occasionally offering short, monotone answers in reply. The creature didn't seem to mind.

As they continued, it noticed that Sethyl seemed to be uncomfortably eyeing some of the roots sticking out of the walls, and it dropped back to walk beside him. Clearly Liila was not in need of a guide. It suddenly dawned on Sethyl that the furbolg accompaniment might very well be there to keep an eye on _him_. As if he would go hacking his way through the caverns.

The creature eyed him for another moment before speaking in broken Orcish. "Hail, friend."

Sethyl figured it must not realize that the term it was using was more for when one first encountered another, as opposed to after walking with them for three hours. Sethyl smiled politely, though it looked more like a grimace. The black circles under his eyes from lack of sleep didn't help him look friendly, either. "Hail."

The furbolg seemed excited. Perhaps it was unaccustomed to strangers. As Sethyl continued to look around, he had to admit that they probably didn't get many visitors this far into nowhere.

He looked back at the creature when it clumsily tugged at his arm. "You...elf? Like Dragonlily?"

Sethyl paused at the name. Neither he nor Wren had really been introduced to Liila—rather they had learned her name when Whisper had defended her. He'd never been interested enough to ask her last name, and quite honestly doubted she would have told him if he had. Because of this, he had no idea that the furbolg meant Liila. Rather, his mind was instantly crowded with different stories of the Dragonlily. She and the Ghost and the Darkweaver were right up there in modern legends with Anonymous.

They'd supposedly aided the bronze dragon flight, helped the Thorium Brotherhood, and aided the Zalandari trolls, among others. The last legend was why many speculated the trio to be involved with Anonymous, if not actual members of the guild.

However, he'd never heard that the Dragonlily was an elf. One story hinted that she was a druid—Tauren, obviously, since it was well known that she was Horde...the two or three tales saying she was Alliance were obviously bogus. Another story claimed she was a troll shaman, able to commune with the elements. Yet another said she was a forsaken warlock. All in all, it was hard to tell which stories were true and which were mere fabrication.

When the furbolg realized that Sethyl didn't follow him, the creature pointed at Liila. "The Dragonlily."

Sethyl's gaze slowly slid toward the small elf in front of him. There was no way in the nether or the light....

"You elf like Liila?" The furbolg asked, thinking perhaps it was mispronouncing some of its words.

Though Sethyl considered explaining the difference between the quel'dorei and the sin'dorei, he decided not to make the furbolg's life more complicated that it needed to be. "Yes, I'm an elf like her."

The furbolg nodded for a moment and slipped into thought, working something through its head. After a time, it looked back at him. "Most elf come here are night elf. Not Dragonlily kind."

Sethyl cracked his neck and looked back over his shoulder, past Sunny and Piikiitwo. He was leading Sunny, while the raptor simply followed behind on its own, eyeing the occasional furbolg, though it made no move toward them. The elf frowned. Were the Alliance following them? Would they be welcome through these tunnels, too?

He glanced back at Liila, suddenly feeling his mistrust return. Was she leading him into a trap?

The furbolg tugged on him again. "You help Dragonlily with curse?"

"What?" In a blink, Sethyl had forgotten his suspicions. There were several tales of the Dragonlily seeking help about a curse. Actually, that was her main objective in all of the stories: she exchanged her services as a talented adventurer in return for assistance working to dismantle her ailment.

Assuming his confusion to be from its wording and not the fact that Sethyl was lost in tall tales, the furbolg's mind tumbled through its sparse selection of orcish words for a moment. "Dragonlily come to us for trade. Help for help. She do same for you?"

Sethyl felt his eye twitch. There was no way...was there? Even as Sethyl opened his mouth to ask if the creature could be more specific—maybe it would say something to hint at one of the stories he'd heard—Liila dropped back, nearly tripped him, and lightly placed a hand on the furbolg's arm. She spoke a few quick, quiet words to it. The creature seemed upset for a moment and replied in its native tongue before giving Sethyl a nervous, toothy smile and shaking its head. "Nothing. Sorry."

As if the universe itself was plotting to keep Sethyl in the dark, a small chime sounded from Liila's pocket. She pulled out her guild stone to examine the message. She glanced over her shoulder to Sethyl. "They may have found Kael'thas."

His ears perked up. "Should we head back to Orgrimmar?"

Liila shook her head. "They will summon us if the need arises. For now, it is just a rumor. I take it you are well acquainted with those?" He wanted to strangle her; she'd caught his musing. She ignored his rage, even as the furbolg bristled slightly, and resumed inspecting the runes flickering across her stone. "Shadow, Lash, and Khai'rhi are going to go investigate it. They will send word if they find concrete evidence." Even as she finished speaking, she looked over and placed a hand on the furbolg's shoulder, to calm its nerves. As it perked up, she offered him a quick, lifeless explanation.

The creature shivered, its fur bristling again momentarily before finally relaxing. "Must be fun. Saving world."

~"~

Once through the tunnels, it was another day and a half of riding before the elven duo finally reached Everlook. Sethyl had never seen goblin architecture before—he'd been summoned to the Keep and had thus missed seeing Area 52, not that half his guild mates who had been there could remember what it looked like anyway—and he had to say he wasn't impressed. All the buildings were so low to the ground. Sure goblins were short, but did their buildings have to make it impossible for an orc, let alone a tauren to enter them?

Sethyl's happiness with his own size was reinforced as he considered this.

Liila made a beeline through the town, waving to a few goblins and others who called out to her, though, as usual, her expression remained blank. When she reached their destination, she didn't even stop to knock, instead hopping off her mount, pushing the door open and ducking in. Piikiitwo stood idly beside the building, content to play nice whilst in civilization.

Even as Sethyl tied up Sunny and followed suit, he heard a vaguely familiar voice cry out, "Liila! Great ta see ya! Haa'aji said ya'd be comin' by."

Sprocket Screwbolt grinned up at her from a small table at the back of the single roomed building, though his smile slipped slightly as he saw Sethyl enter after. The goblin eyed the paladin before motioning to him and giving the duo a crooked grin. "Really, Liila? I didn't peg ya for keepin' a boy toy around. If ya get bored of him, lemme know, and I'll hook ya up with someone I think would be more ta your taste."

Even as Sethyl fought back the urge to snap that he was hardly anyone's 'boy toy', Liila merely glanced over her shoulder at him. "Don't suppose you could get me a prettier one?"

"If ya want it, I can get it," Sprocket laughed, grin still in place, though it slipped as he focused his attention more so on the aghast paladin. "That goes for you, too, though it'll cost ya a bit more. Whatever ya want though, I can get...for the right price...be it men, women, trade goods, battle plans, spare parts..." he looked back at Liila and hoisted a small box onto the table, "Speakin' of which, here ya go."

While Sethyl still grappled with the recent blow to his ego, Liila lifted the box and started to flip it over. Just as it was about upside down, Sprocket reached up and gripped it, holding a small latch in place. "Ya don't wanna open this 'til ya get it ta Haa'aji."

Liila set it back on the table. "It seems smaller than what I was expecting."

Grin back in full force, Sprocket nodded enthusiastically. "I know, I know. See, I got this connection, ova in Stormwind. Annoyin' little gnome, but every now and again he has a moment of pure genius. He figured, what if he made tiny containers that could house giant things, right? He wanted ta use 'em ta transport those ugly Alliance tanks, or maybe carry a boat across land easily, in case ya needed it later. But the Alliance didn't trust his boxes, seein' as the prototype kind of demolished a part of Stormwind's castle or some such nonsense. Howeva, he did get it workin', and what I have for you, is one of the few he sent over ta me, in exchange for some timber wood, of all things." When Sethyl eyed the goblin in surprise, Sprocket shrugged. "He...may have been a bit behind on some payments for other things. Nothin' ta worry about though. It's all squared away."

Sethyl shook his head slowly. "I'm just...a bit surprised you deal with the Alliance at all."

Sprocket threw his arms out and shrugged. "I'm neutral, baby. Ya pretty much gotta be if ya wanna make the good dough." He laughed. "I'm rollin' in gold from both Horde and Alliance...." He abruptly stopped and looked around as though expecting someone to be eavesdropping. Leaning forward, he cupped a hand around his mouth. "Honestly, though, I like you guys more. Those humans are dicks."

Sethyl shook his head. "But, seriously. How are you in our gui—"

Flames ignited at the tips of the goblin's fingers and he pointed accusingly at Sethyl, though it was Liila he addressed. "Get this one outta my shop, now! If he can't keep his mouth shut, he's bad for business."

Liila picked up the box again, careful this time to keep it upright, turned, and pushed Sethyl out of the shop. As she stepped back into the frigid air, she nodded once at the goblin before he slammed his door shut. Liila turned her blue gaze, which somehow seemed colder than usual, on Sethyl. "I hope you're happy. We were going to stay with him for the night."

Wishing to strangle some type of emotion out of the wench, Sethyl clenched his fists to his sides and forced a smile. "How was I to know I can't mention our gui—"

Liila put a finger to his lips. "Just don't. Not so long as we're in Winterspring." As Piikiitwo darted up to her, she ran her fingers over its face gently. "Or Stranglethorn, for that matter."

She slipped up onto her mount as another matter suddenly struck Sethyl. "You...weren't delivering something here."

Liila stared at him blankly and held up the box. "This goes to Thousand Needles. As I said before, help me make sure this gets there intact, and I'll answer any questions you want."

He wanted to scream, but instead, merely sucked in a sharp breath, though he instantly regretted it. The air was so cold that it burned his lungs. She glanced down at him and for a moment he thought she looked amused, though it was just a fleeting notion. In truth, her expression hadn't changed at all. "You didn't think I'd make this easy, did you?"

With little other choice, the duo headed over to the one building in Everlook that actually had a decent sized doorway: the inn. Sethyl thought he could probably sleep for a week, though he had to wonder if Liila even knew what fatigue was. As he inspected her, he noticed the slightest hint of circles under her eyes and for the first time, the irrational notion that she was some sort of mechanical goblin or gnomish experiment began to disappear.

A few humans kept staring at them as Liila stood speaking in a hushed voice to the innkeeper about getting a room. While sleep was determined to keep Sethyl's mind from forming coherent thoughts, it dawned on him that perhaps they were wondering what a high elf and a blood elf would be doing together. If he'd seen such travelers passing by, he'd have wondered about it as well.

It was easy enough for him to eavesdrop on their conversation, though all he got was some story about a man named Evyrres and a lady friend he'd had down in Silithus. It was meaningless gossip as far as he was concerned, and he brushed it off as Liila caught his arm.

Without a word, she tugged him past the innkeeper and up to the second floor. However, even as her hand rested on a door handle, a trollish voice called out her name.

She stopped. Sethyl cursed to himself, wondering if the world wanted him to die from lack of sleep. Liila turned and nodded her head toward a group of three Horde who'd walked up to them.

The first, a troll warrior with brilliant red hair and no tusks, grinned and put Liila in a headlock. "How be ah liila Liila, eh?"

As Sethyl stared blankly at them, Liila merely waited for the troll to release her before straightening up and running her fingers through her messy hair once. The troll laughed. Even sleep deprived as he was, Sethyl recognized the warrior's armor to be the style given to those who took a more active role in securing the Horde's position in the world...through fighting the Alliance.

Liila spoke a few quick, quiet words in troll and then looked back at her guild mate as she motioned to the others. "These are Renza'shi, Murk, and Lisp. Gentlemen, Sethyl."

Sethyl had been inspecting the orc shaman who was dressed in similar war gear when he heard the last name, and his gaze snapped toward the undead rogue. The forsaken had an iron jaw, which made it impossible to tell if he was smiling or sneering at the elves, though Sethyl assumed the former, as he gripped Liila around the shoulders in a half hug. She returned the hug as the troll patted her on the head.

"Lisp...as in...."

"The guy you replaced," Liila murmured, her monotone still intact.

"I thought he was eaten by a whale shark," Sethyl murmured, beginning to wonder if anything his guild mates had told him had ever been remotely true.

Instantly the three strangers were doubled over laughing, though Lisp's had an eerie metallic ring to it. As he overcame his amusement, he gave Liila another one of his awkward grins, the yellow light from his eyes flickering with amusement. His voice had an eerie metallic ring to it. "Really? A whale shark?"

The orc shaman, Murk, had a full grin as well. "What did you say happened to Cinder?"

"Oh, no need to embellish that one." Liila shrugged.

"How's she doing, by the way?" Lisp cocked his head. He was holding one of his daggers in one hand and a small vial of poison in the other hand. Apparently they'd been readying to go win a few fights for the Horde when they'd seen their favorite high elf.

As Liila explained that their other former guild mate was off living in Tanaris with her demonic lover, Renza'shi quietly stepped around the others and walked over to Sethyl, pausing to inspect him. He caught the elf by his chin and turned his head this way and that, as though thinking to find the paladin to be a fake.

After appraising him, instead of offering him a hello, or even a veiled threat, the troll simply returned his attention to Liila. "Ya know, ya still be welcome ta Blood 'n Hona if ya eva wan'in in, yeh?"

Liila nodded to him. "I can't leave Mitchell to Gregor. One of them would die, and I'd be at a loss either way."

"Hell, Taknar would probably accept the whole lot of you," Murk rumbled, pausing to eye Sethyl as though to imply that the elf, unknown as he was, might have to prove himself first.

Renza'shi cackled. He was taller than most trolls. It occurred to Sethyl that it was probably because he didn't have the weight of tusks to keep him hunched forward. The troll seemed oblivious to Sethyl's revelation that trolls in general were probably really fucking tall. "Ah can see it now. Takna stayin' up all night, giddeh as a human gu'l wit' a crush, makin' ya lot a banna, 'Welcome Impe’vious!'"

The three erupted into fresh laughter. Lisp inspected Liila's blank expression and seemed to consider it for a moment. "What's this void tantrum for, hmm?"

Renza'shi grinned from ear to ear, and Sethyl thought he saw the hint of a broken tusk behind his lips. Had the troll lost them? Sethyl's teeth hurt as he imagined how painful that must have been. "Dis nah be a void tantrum, yeh? Dis be—"

He cut himself off as Liila held a finger to her lips and then pointed it at Sethyl. His eye twitched; she was intentionally keeping him in the dark.

Murk was the one to frown and sigh, however. "We should get going. The Alliance aren't going to kill themselves."

"True dat," Renza'shi nodded and tussled Liila's hair and then Sethyl's. "Nighteh, night, liila elves."

Even as the trio sauntered off to spill blood for glory, Liila and Sethyl's fatigue returned tenfold, and she trotted back to the door and pushed it open to reveal a smallish sized room.

Sethyl frowned as she failed to indicate a separate room for him as well. He was further perplexed to see but one bed. Was she planning on seducing him, here in the middle of nowhere? He supposed she was pretty enough, in her own way, but still...he couldn't get past those blue eyes.

It wasn't until Liila walked over and flopped down on a small fainting couch that he realized that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't suffering some longing to be with him. She dropped her bags onto the floor beside her and draped herself over the couch, half heartedly motioning toward the bed.

"Take it."

Sethyl quietly closed the door behind him, frowning. Sure he _wanted_ the bed, but he was a gentleman. "It's fine. I can sleep on the couch—"

"No." Liila said point blank. She lifted her head to give him one of her unreadable stares. "You will say that I can have the bed now, but as soon as the cold creeps in, you'll be bothering me to share blankets and pillows. I would rather skip such nonsense and let you have it."

They stared at one another for a good, long moment before he finally shrugged and trotted over to the bed, dropping his belongings at the foot of it as he sat down and yanked off his boots. He had to say, for goblins, they did have comfortable lodging, though he would later learn that, surprisingly enough, Everlook was a trade town and had to accommodate all sorts of travelers. Hence the pleasant furnishings.

Even as he unstrapped his armor and grimaced—he was rank with sweat and dirt after not being able to take a proper bath in over a week—he looked at her and felt a pang of guilt. She looked so small, curled up on the couch. He stacked his armor against one of the walls and rolled his shoulders slowly, glad to have shed the extra weight. He considered taking off his shirt, but decided against it, not wanting to make anything awkward. Even as he commended himself for being so noble, he frowned, spotting a few sweat stains on the fabric. This shirt was going in the trash as soon as they got back to Orgrimmar. Hopefully Mitchell could make him a replacement—he'd pay of course.

Pay...he turned to Liila and cocked his head. "What do I owe you?"

She didn't move for a moment before slowly lifting her head and staring at him. "What?"

"For the room. It's not fair that you pay for all of it."

"Fifteen gold."

Sethyl felt his eye twitch. "It costs fifteen gold for this room?"

Shaking her head, Liila sat up straighter on the couch, resigning herself to what appeared to be a blossoming conversation. "It costs thirty. Paying half price is fair, is it not?"

"It's plenty fair, but..." Sethyl struggled to think how best to phrase what he wanted to say. "I'd rather sleep in the snow than pay thirty gold for a room...a small room at that."

Liila rested her forehead against the arm of the couch. "It's non refundable. Just forget about paying me back. I wasn't expecting it, anyway."

"Why not?" Sethyl felt indignant.

"I know you enjoy being annoying," Liila muttered, and for a moment he thought he heard irritation enter her tone, though he couldn't be sure if it was his lack of sleep playing tricks on him, "but can we talk about this in the morning, if you still feel a need to?"

Even as Sethyl flopped down onto the bed, feeling somehow defeated, she paused to add, "Should you wake up in the night, please don't touch me. I don't...take well to being woken."


	9. Run

Liila had been awake when Sethyl first tried to hide beneath the covers from the early light of morning. She was inspecting his armor, flipping the shoulders this way and that and weighing them in her hands. At first he thought she was planning on selling his earthly belongings and leaving him stranded in his undergarments in a foreign town, but then it occurred to him as she tried on one of his gloves that perhaps she was merely curious.

It was hard to tell with her lack of emotion.

"Having fun?" He asked as he sat up, his usually spiky hair just long enough to fall into his eyes and tickle the back of his neck.

She didn't bother to look at him, instead dropping his glove and picking up his helm, which he rarely wore—he didn't like how easily it messed up his hair and getting his ears through the ear slots could be a bit of a hassle, especially if he was tired. "I was wondering what it's like to be so close to the Light."

Sethyl couldn't help but laugh, though he stopped when she turned what felt to be an icy stare in his direction. Perhaps it was just that it was cold in the room without the blankets. As clarity again took hold of his thoughts, he looked back at the couch and frowned. She should have asked for something when she went to sleep...hadn't she been cold? He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly self-conscious, though of what he couldn't say. His haphazard appearance? His inconsideration? His misguided comments? His arrogance?

"I just..." He met her gaze uneasily. "You're a priest, aren't you?"

Liila turned her attention back to his helm and ran her fingers over a few of the details carved into it. "I see only darkness." Her voice had been a mere whisper, and he almost wasn't sure that he had really heard her.

She set his helm back down and walked over to the bed Sethyl still sat on. With little concern to where his feet might be beneath the blankets, she flopped down and stared up at him, her blue eyes seeming paler than he'd remember high elves to be. Were his memories already dulling? He fought back a shiver.

"You look horrible."

His eye twitched as she propped herself up on an elbow and reached out to straighten one of his eyebrows. Apparently he'd slept on his side. He batted her hand away and fixed it himself, suddenly feeling like she was mocking him. Of course she was already cleaned up and ready to go before he ever even woke up; Light forbid anyone see a lady elf with a single hair out of place. He paused to consider that perhaps she acted more like an elf than he'd originally thought.

She stared at him blankly. "Are you going to fix yourself up? Or are you willing to parade yourself around looking like a half dead human mongrel?"

Sethyl narrowed his eyes and arched a delicate eyebrow. "You are trying to make the man who wields a two handed sword longer than your torso angry?"

Liila shrugged. "If it bothers you, you are welcome to leave."

"I'm getting my answers," Sethyl said calmly. He wasn't sure why, but he quite abruptly felt that he didn't mind Liila's company nearly as much as he had the past week. He couldn't place why. Perhaps it had been seeing her curled up on that couch, looking so...delicate?

Liila twisted over onto her stomach and splayed her fingers across one of the throw pillows on the bed. Sethyl had been so worn, he hadn't even realized they were there. Her hair brushed against the bed sheets as she examined the delicate stitch-work in the fabric. "You like to think yourself a tactician of sorts, yes?"

Sethyl frowned. "What?"

Without looking up at him, Liila shrugged. "You were considered quite resourceful and calculating among the other paladins. They thought you would make a good captain, though you turned down the offer."

Sethyl stilled. He had known that the guild had to have had some kind of background on him, since they sent him an invitation, but he had never thought they would have looked into him _that_ much. He'd always figured someone had mentioned his name to Gore or Gregor or that one of his guild mates had been in Silvermoon and seen him training.

At length, he rose and stretched. "I suppose I'm decent."

"Modesty in a sin'dorei? You must be horrible at it."

Sethyl ignored her jibe and smirked. "Why do you ask about it?"

Liila rested her chin on the throw pillow. "Assess our situation for me: We were being followed by Alliance. I do not know if any of them were on good terms with the Timbermaw, so I cannot say if they followed us into Winterspring. If they did not, I do not know if they are still in Felwood or even if they will present a true threat. However, I can tell you that if they are still there, they outnumber us and there are kaldorei among them. They will not be pleased to see us. Especially with Blood and Honor's members out causing them grief." She slid her gaze toward him slowly, expectantly.

It was Sethyl's turn to have a blank expression. "And?"

"Should we wait here a few days? Or risk the encounter?"

Sethyl eyed her for a moment before shrugging. "At thirty gold a night? I say we risk it. We'll go broke if we wait until we think we're sure that they've gone."

While the duo did hit the road a little over an hour later, Sethyl again found himself struggling with a sense of inadequacy. Liila had given him one of her looks when he'd suggested they might go broke that seemed to ask, "You have money problems? Because I don't."

He had tried to pay her the fifteen gold they'd spoken of the night before, but found she was quite resistant to cooperation and declined it, murmuring something about his armor costing more than hers and not to worry about it. Did she not think that he could afford to take care of himself?

They'd traveled along in silence for most of the day before he noticed that she seemed to be nodding off. He felt another twinge of guilt. "Do you want to rest?"

"No."

He turned to eye her and realized that she probably hadn't slept much the night before. "...Do you want to go back to Everlook?"

Her gaze slid toward him, but she said nothing.

Frowning, he shook his head. "You know, if you wanted to stay and spend a few more days resting, you should have just said so."

"It wouldn't have mattered how long we stayed," she finally shrugged. "I do not sleep well around others."

Sethyl arched an eyebrow. "Afraid I might poke you in your sleep?"

When she didn't respond, Sethyl figured they were settling back into the general silence which had accompanied them the majority of their trip. So accepting was he of it that he allowed his attention to wander to look over their surroundings and nearly missed when she started speaking again.

"I have nightmares."

He looked back at her, but she was staring straight ahead. Even as he floundered for something to say, she started talking again.

"I do not wake up well from them, especially if it is because someone touched me." She let out a long sigh and Sethyl felt like it was the first thing she had ever really done that seemed like that of a living creature. "I have attacked people before, when they tried to wake me. Mitchell, among others."

"Ah." It was a stupid, indifferent thing to say, but he couldn't help it. What else was he supposed to do? As they went along, he shrugged. His back was beginning to get stiff from riding so much. "Everyone has nightmares," he muttered, trying to counter his idiotic response from moments before. "I doubt there's a sin'dorei who doesn't...and if anyone tells you they don't, they're lying." As Liila turned to look at him, he kept going. "Seeing your homeland...the ones you love falling before shambling, rotting corpses…it's not something that sits well in the subconscious mind."

The damned raptor let out a low hiss, and Sethyl frowned. Seeing as she was a high elf, she probably hadn't been present for the fall of Silvermoon. "I mean, assuming that's what you dream about. If your nightmares are something else...well, you're not alone in not sleeping well." He felt like he was drowning or like one of those idiot human priests had just sat him down to talk about his feelings.

Piikiitwo came to an abrupt stop, and Liila's ears perked up. The two were so still for a moment, they looked almost as though they were a statue.

Sethyl drew Sunny to a halt as well and listened. At first he couldn't hear anything, except snow slipping off branches in the distance. And then a soft crunch. And another and another and nothing.

He caught the twang in time to kick Sunny into a run. Liila had heard it as well, and her raptor ran along, keeping pace with his steed as an arrow thudded into the ground where they had just been. Sethyl looked up at the sky and frowned. It would be dark in an hour or two, and they still had a little over half a day's journey to the furbolg caverns. He glanced back and frowned when he saw no one was on the road behind them.

Of course they wouldn't come into plain sight. He squinted, trying to see the arrow which had hit the ground, to determine if it were of Alliance make or perhaps something else. Perhaps they'd merely stumbled into some native creatures' land, though they'd had no problem on the road before.

Liila reached out and grabbed Sunny's reins, pulling Sethyl's horse to the side as something hit the ground and went off. Snow and dirt flew past them as their world evaporated into a severe ringing. Excellent hearing was wonderful for tracking other species, but horrible if right next to a bomb.

Sethyl caught sight of what looked like a saber cat flitting through the trees to their left. That was all he needed to see to turn his attention ahead. If they were still being chased by the time the night came, they'd be screwed, seeing as the kaldorei were most alert after dark.

A blind spot to his right made him turn to see shadows rolling over Liila and her raptor, engulfing them and obscuring their features. Her head turned toward him, and she pointed ahead, off the road. When she spoke, her voice had a strange undertone to it—what he supposed shadows might sound like if they were able to be a noise.

"If we go off the road and head for the mountains, I can use a shortcut."

Sethyl ducked low as another arrow flew past them. "Won't they know it? We should just find a good place to make a stand."

Liila shook her head. "Gregor is against faction conflict." An arrow flew through her and thudded into the road ahead of them. Despite their situation, Sethyl wanted to reach out and see if his fingers would pass through her as well.

He jerked Sunny's reins to the side and narrowly missed another bomb. He waited for his hearing to clear before trying to reason with her. "I think he'd understand this time."

"He would be angry." Liila abruptly darted closer to him, and he instinctively turned his horse from the path to keep from running into her.

It was hard to stay together through the trees. He kept having to look to the side to see his shadowy companion flitting past—and through—branches. On one such glance, he paled to see what looked like a kaldorei sentinel riding almost parallel to her, blade ready to strike. Could it still hit her? As they broke out into a small clearing, he realized that there were nearly half a dozen of the night elves in a semi circle behind them, all looking rather smug.

Just as Sethyl turned his attention ahead to see they were running straight toward a cliff face, Liila reached out and grabbed his reins. Shadows flew over his horse and up his body. The last thing he heard before his world was completely enveloped in darkness was, "Don't stop."

~"~

Sethyl opened his eyes slowly and stared up into the sickly looking branches overhead. There was magic in the air. Old magic. And the way it swirled and mixed was intoxicating. Just as he was about to settle back into a half-aware daze, allowing himself to be taken in by the essences around him, the flash of a night elf's face flashed in his memory, her face twisted with rage as she realized her prey was escaping.

Sethyl's eyes snapped back open, and he jolted upright, looking around with mild panic. What was he doing sleeping when they were being chased? Concerned as he was, it still took him a moment to overcome the lure of the magic around him and take in his surroundings.

He was in Felwood. Sunny and Piikiitwo stood, untied to anything, a few feet away, his horse idly grazing whilst the raptor eyed a butterfly which had landed on a giant, gnarled root. A small fire flickered near his feet, and Liila sat on the other side of it, her blank expression staring into the flames. Even as he looked about for any signs of their harassers, Liila pulled a stick out of the fire and offered him a slightly charred biscuit.

"If you are well, we should move. The elves will not take more than a day to get over the mountains. This is their homeland, after all."

She had to repeat herself as he struggled to hear her over the ancient whispers of power which entrenched the air around him. Even as he managed a meek nod, he frowned. He hadn't had this sort of problem when they'd come through here the first time. Was it some sort of magic surge?

Liila was already snuffing out the fire. As Sethyl dumbly picked at the biscuit she'd given him, she snapped her fingers in front of his face twice. "Listen to me. What you're going through...it will pass, though I don't know how long it will take. You are unaccustomed to the shadow realm, and it lingers in the senses."

Sethyl couldn't help a goofy grin. "You always feel like this?"

Without offering a response, Liila jerked on his arm, forcing him to his feet. Sunny came to them without needing to be called and for a moment, Sethyl thought he could hear the creature's thoughts.

If mana crystals could get him this high, he would have it made. He'd have to tell Wren about it sometime. The poor farstrider did go through his crystals like there was no tomorrow.

Liila hopped onto Piikiitwo and took Sunny's reins in her hand, leading the steed through the ancient wood and giving its master time to come back down to Azeroth.


	10. Chaotic Neutral

Wren's hawkstrider was all but refusing to follow his direction. The bird was angry to have been left in Shadowtusk Village for almost two weeks, to be tended by trolls. Trolls. While the locals had done their best to keep it healthy and clean, it had lost a few tail feathers on its first day being groomed. As a result, it spent the rest of its time there pecking at anyone who came too close with anything other than food.

Margaret reined her skeletal horse up next to him, grinning from ear to ear, which looked eerie, even in the bright afternoon light. "Is your chicken still angry at you?" Even the horse seemed to wheeze a snicker. 

The bird held its head up, indignant, and started a faster pace, despite Wren's tugs on its reins. Wren sighed. His peoples' mounts were as vain as their masters. "I'll give you a proper grooming when we get back to Orgrimmar," he said, trying to appease the creature, though it stopped jerkily, as though to protest that he had not said Silvermoon.

Margaret laughed and patted her own steed. "You should get a horse. These sweethearts don't mind a bit of neglect, do you?" She turned her comment to her mount, and the creature shook its mane as though to stress the matted clusters of hair for emphasis.

Cloudless rode ahead of them on a kodo, while Gregor and Whisper took up the rear. Whisper rode upon a large raptor, whilst their guild leader had a wolf. When Wren had asked about their reasons for not getting the mounts most accessible to their races, Whisper had simply laughed, though Gregor had muttered something about not liking to see animals afflicted with the plague.

The five had settled back into casual banter after that—they didn't speak about Maraudon, for when they'd reached the innermost chambers of the caverns, they'd found an Alliance group had somehow gotten ahead of them and were already making off with the seed which Whisper and Cloudless had apparently come for... Wren hadn't been sure why they hadn't just fought them for it, but he had quickly learned that Gregor was heavily against any skirmishes with the Alliance.

As Whisper called to Wren that raptors were relatively low maintenance as well, hers abruptly stopped. It perked its head up, nearly toppling her from its back before taking off across the plains, away from the road.

Margaret let out a sharp laugh and directed her horse to follow. As Wren joined the others, with Gregor and Cloudless loping along out of sheer boredom, Margaret gave him another grin. "We've friends about."

The five ran up over a small hill and skirted around the outskirts of the Crossroads, their raptor leader taking them to the northern road. As they came by a few scraggly looking savanna trees, Whisper let out a sharp cluck. "Look at that. High elf and blood elf, friends at last."

Wren blinked when he realized that a rather weathered looking Sethyl and Liila were trotting along the road toward them, though Liila's raptor perked up and ran toward them, leaving Sethyl to catch up. The paladin looked like he had crashed hard from a high...if he looked any worse he'd make the wretched look attractive.

Liila stopped in front of Whisper and greetings were tossed around, ending as Sethyl's horse sauntered to a stop with the others. The paladin muttered something that sounded like it might have been a hello, or a curse. Wren chose to take it as the former and greeted him as well.

Even as tales were beginning to be woven and recounted, Sethyl started his horse again. When everyone gave him curious looks, he merely pointed toward the Crossroads. Despite a few laughs and queries to Liila about what she had done to the poor sin’dorei, they acquiesced the worn elf and headed into town.

As they happily trudged into the inn—despite mostly high spirits, the whole lot of them were still tired—a few tauren gave Whisper cat calls as they entered, and she blew them a kiss. For both Sethyl and Wren, it came as a slight surprise, as their minds were abruptly brought to consider that their images of beauty really didn't apply to most of their new allies. 

Wren had sort of come to terms with this well before he'd joined the guild. He'd been walking through Silvermoon when he'd heard two Horde ambassadors talking. One was a troll, and he'd been ragging on all the 'ugly, little stick creatures'. Since then, Wren had made a conscious effort not to be overly arrogant about his looks. He knew elven ladies found him attractive, but that didn't mean he had to flaunt it in front of orcs and tauren, who likely thought _his_ tastes were atrocious.

Sethyl on the other hand, was just coming to realize this, and it boggled his muddled mind somewhat. As he sat down with the others, he found himself longing for the walls of Silvermoon and the quietness of the streets, filled only occasionally with the murmurs of fairly weak spells...weak in comparison to whatever lay claim over Felwood anyway.

As he wistfully longed for the days before his people had needed the Horde, he didn't realize he'd been downing every drink pushed in front of him until it suddenly occurred to him that the world was tilting from side to side in a most unpleasant manner.

He turned a dulled gaze around the table in stupefied silence. Wren and Margaret had their arms around each others' shoulders with their drinks raised in the air as they sang some human song in common. The two sounded horrible, their words slurring at different points to make the song almost completely indecipherable. A few orc guards were laughing at them. Gregor's head was down as he quietly nursed a drink, his thoughts seemingly as trapped in memories as Sethyl had been. Cloudless and Whisper were talking over enthusiastically about climbing Teldrassil to make friends with the druids there and teach them about shamanism. The two were—loudly—convinced that the Alliance and Horde could put aside their differences if everyone would just admit how awesome healers were.

And then there was Liila. She sat next to Margaret, her hands lightly clasped around a smaller ale, her expression as blank as ever. Sethyl frowned. Couldn't she act like a person, just once?

He didn't realize he'd actually asked her this until the others fell silent, all eyes on him. As he looked around, feeling like he'd made some huge blunder, but not for the life of him remembering what it was, Margaret, Whisper, and Cloudless erupted into laughter, which made the few other adventurers in the inn glare in their direction.

Sethyl didn't understand the joke, but he did get that he was the brunt of it. After the journey he'd suffered so far, this was the breaking point. Jerking to his feet, he cursed at them in slurred Thalassian. Not slurred enough though, for Wren's ears reddened as he heard some of the insults. Sethyl's anger only seemed to fuel the drunkards' laughter. At length, he couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his drink against the table and stalked out into the night air.

He didn't stop until he was beyond the outskirts of the Crossroads. Dropping to the ground, he sat, sulking, his arms crossed against his chest. The first hint he had that he wasn't alone was the white-blonde hair slipping into his view just before he found himself staring into a pair of blue, glowing eyes.

Liila stood leaning over him from behind and meeting his gaze upside down. He could have easily toppled her the way she was standing, though his mind was a bit too muddled to think of it. It wasn't until he felt something brush against his hair—his perfect, perfect hair which he had taken nearly three hours that morning to fix after letting it go uncombed or pampered for so long…not that anyone had noticed—that he batted at her, and she straightened up and came around to sit in front of him. As they sat there in silence, it occurred to him that what must have touched his hair was a ring that rested on her chest, strung up on a thin silver chain. While the light was bad, he could swear that the ring looked mangled.

Realizing what he was looking at, Liila quietly slipped the ring back under her shirt before speaking. "I am trying to win a bet." As Sethyl bristled, she held a hand up. "It has nothing to do with you."

A wind blew past them, making her hair flutter. When he didn't reply, her voice filled the silence again. "I made a bet with Haa'aji a little over six months ago, and I am determined to win. If my disposition bothers you, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for about half a year longer."

Sethyl blinked at her slowly, fairly certain that even without the alcohol he would have been confused. "What happens then?"

"I win."

"What is the bet?"

Liila rose to her feet. "Come with me to Thousand Needles, and I'll tell you all about that and my curse." She stopped beside him and bent down to tap his shoulder. "You should know though, of everyone in our guild here, Gregor's Thalassian is the worst, and he could still make it a week in Silvermoon, unaided, speaking the native tongue."

The blood drained from Sethyl's face as she left him to his thoughts, his mind recounting all the swears he had said to his guild mates...and guild leader at that.

~"~

Wren eyed the paladin beside him. Sethyl's ears were pulled back in irritation to the point that he almost looked like a discolored night elf. Margaret and Whisper rode ahead of them, on either side of Liila as the trio gossiped—well, Margaret and Whisper did most of the talking...of course.

Gregor and Cloudless had headed back to Orgrimmar in the morning to check in and see how the hunt for the prince was going. While Sethyl, having one of the worst hangovers of his life—who'd have thought a magic hangover could be made so much worse when combined with an alcoholic one?—had attempted to apologize, Gregor had simply shook his head and smiled, saying Sethyl wasn't the guild's first angry drunk. With a pat on the shoulder, he'd left him with well wishes for a safe journey.

Despite Wren's promises to his hawkstrider, when Margaret had all but demanded he accompany her and Whisper as they joined Liila on her quest, he'd decided to go along. While Sethyl seemed annoyed at first, Wren had hoped the paladin would come around. Especially after last night. Sethyl's little outburst left him, in Wren's mind, needing to get better standing with the guild.

So far the paladin hadn't said a word to any of them.

It wasn't until Sethyl's mood worsened that Wren realized the duo had been surrounded...by their guild mates. Margaret pulled her horse to match pace with Wren's hawkstrider and tilted her head. "So."

As Wren eyed her, Whisper started talking from behind him. "We've been wondering, and hoped you could explain something to us."

Wren shifted his bow uncomfortably and glanced over his shoulder—once in the Crossroads, he'd been able to buy some arrows; he still didn't understand why he hadn't been able to find any in Shadowtusk Village, but chalked it up to bad luck and an odd opportunity to learn to use a gun, which he'd given back to Gregor the night before. "Yes?"

"What are you?" Liila finished. Her raptor trotted along on Sethyl's far side.

Both Wren and Sethyl looked confused. As Wren tried to ask her to clarify, Margaret let out a withered sigh. "C'mon, Wren. You're an elf, you wear leather, you use a bow, but you have no pet."

Whisper chimed in, "We were sure you were a hunter who just neglected your pet or some such until we saw you fight."

"No pet, yet you still own?" Margaret said. Wren felt dizzy as he tried to keep up with who was saying what. At least Liila seemed to have fallen silent. "What the hell are you?"

Wren blinked, once, twice. "I'm a farstrider. A ranger."

Whisper and Margaret donned understanding looks and Whisper perked up. "I thought all the rangers were female."

Margaret tilted her head. "Me too. I mean, all the risen ones are."

Sethyl seemed slightly amused, though Wren tried to ignore him. Maybe he shouldn't have hoped to build rapport. "Not all rangers are female."

"Clearly," Sethyl murmured, trying to hide his smile. At least the paladin still remembered how to....

Margaret eyed Sethyl with a look that made Wren shiver. When she noticed Wren watching her, she gave him a wink. "What about those guards around Silvermoon? Are they all male?"

When both elven men looked confused, Whisper spoke up. "Well, the kaldorei had gender specific roles for a long time, and really the Sentinels are all still female, so we were wondering if your guard was restricted to males."

Margaret nodded. "We want to get to know our allies better," She gave them one of her eerie smiles. "We wouldn't want to make some terrible blunder if we ever find ourselves in Silvermoon."

"But it's so hard to learn about elven culture," Whisper added. "You're a very reclusive species."

Just as Wren was about to offer that while he'd never seen any female guards, he wasn't sure that they were explicitly excluded, Sethyl spoke up. He looked perplexed and annoyed and Wren had to wonder if the paladin ever _didn't_ have a proverbial stick up his ass. "I'm sorry, why haven't you asked Liila about this if you're so curious?"

Silence met his request. Margaret abruptly dropped back behind the group, only to ride up on Liila's far side. She gave the high elf a stern look. "Has he been picking on you this whole way?"

Even as Sethyl tried to protest, Whisper chipped in from behind. "I thought it was just that he was drunk...."

When all eyes remained on Liila with Sethyl trying not to twitch, she simply shrugged.

Margaret frowned. "Liila, you can't let him walk all over you, just because Gore told you to be nice to the elves."

"It's okay," Liila murmured, her eyes straight forward and face blank. "He only hit me once."

As Wren's jaw dropped, Sethyl let out a half scream. "I never touched you!"

Margaret cackled and dropped back to return to her place beside Wren. Whisper had a hand over her mouth as she tried hide her own giggles. Shaking her head, Margaret's eyes seemed to glow brighter. "Sethyl, you make playing with you way too easy. Lighten up." She grinned over at Liila, who was watching the group. "You've had a fun trip, haven't you?"

"Sprocket nearly set him on fire," Liila murmured.

Sethyl looked ready to snap when his face abruptly went calm. He gave Liila a smug look. "You think you can get out of our deal? You think harassing me will make me give up? After everything I've already gone through? Bring your worst."

There was a dead, tense silence before Liila slowly moved to make eye contact with him and held it. Somehow, the world felt a little colder, though he couldn't place why. Sethyl shifted uncomfortably, regretting his burst of confidence.

Abruptly, she turned to face ahead, and Piikiitwo picked up its pace. "We shall see."

Wren watched as Whisper rode around the rest of them to catch up with the priest and shook his head slowly. "Liila's kind of scary."

Margaret let out a short laugh. "You don't know the half of it." Her face shifted from amused to serious in a blink. "But seriously. After Kael'thas, you guys plan on sticking around, right?"

"Of course," Wren answered for the both of them, not considering that perhaps Sethyl had other plans.

Margaret eyed the paladin, as though waiting him to contradict the more amiable elf, before nodding, thoughtful. "Good. We could use another tracker..." she paused. "Farstriders are trackers, right?" When Wren nodded, she gave him a half smile. "Excellent. We could use you...and paladins are great for fighting the undead."

Sethyl eyed the forsaken. "What, are you going after the Lich King after Kael'thas?"

Margaret laughed. "We're not _that_ arrogant. Someday, but not yet. For now, we'd like to go after a death knight." She glanced ahead, a look of concern flashing across her face. "We'll tell you more about it when we get back to Orgrimmar, but—" she pulled her horse in front of the two, forcing them to stop. She looked ahead to make sure that Liila and Whisper were far enough away not to hear their conversation before speaking again. "This is really important. You _can't_ mention this to Liila. Not a word."

As Wren sat puzzled, Sethyl furrowed his brow. "What, does she know the death knight you're going after?"

"Yes. Yes, she does."

~"~

Getting down into Thousand Needles proved to be a giant pain in the ass. Sethyl's mount turned out to be terrified of heights—he was glad he had never been foolhardy enough to try to jump a breach or hole in a bridge over a chasm—and Whisper's raptor didn't trust the elevator system, instead stepping on it and then darting back to the edge of the Barrens as the lift started down.

However, with effort and patience, they managed to reach the bottom, though the whole lot of them were exhausted afterwards. While they would have loved to rest, their guild stones chimed, asking them to prepare for summons in the next day or so. As close as they were to completing their quest, they had asked for time to finish, which had been reluctantly given to them by their guild leaders.

In truth, Sethyl was ready to head back, despite himself. Sure, Liila would never tell him anything, but he could always ask the other guildies about it. Maybe even that troll, Haa'aji. He hadn't dealt with him much, save for their first meeting, and didn't see why he couldn't learn about the bet by talking to the other person involved. And the curse...Wren had already heard about it, so it must have been talked about among the others. And perhaps he could look into some of the rumors about the Dragonlily and figure out if any actually pertained to Liila.

However, their time had been given, and the five of them hurried toward the southern end of Thousand Needles. Liila kept checking her guild stone, and Wren found himself inspecting his own. It wasn't chiming or anything.

Whisper laughed when she noticed what he was doing. "You can tinker with them, so that you can send messages just to certain people, or to people outside of the guild. The latter's harder though, since not many people have them outside of Impervious."

"Is that how Liila keeps in touch with her lover?" Wren asked, cocking his head. He didn't notice when Sethyl perked up, interested.

Whisper stared at him blankly. "Lover?"

"In Silithus?" Wren clarified, wondering if perhaps it was somewhat of a secret.

A slow look of realization crossed Whisper's face, and she abruptly turned her attention ahead of her and rode up quickly, her shoulders trembling slightly as the distance between them widened. Wren worried that she might be crying—perhaps he'd said something too close to her awkward relationship with Shadow?—and considered going after her, but instead chose to stay back, not wanting to make a bad situation worse.

"A lover in Silithus?" Sethyl prodded slowly.

When Wren looked at him, he noticed the paladin had an oddly calculating look on his face, like he was trying to find some reason to blackmail their elven guild mate. Wren shrugged. "Apparently Liila has a thing for a kaldorei. The guild—" His eyes widened as he realized his blunder. "The guild told her to break it off, because they're worried she'll get in trouble." Had he just alerted Whisper that Liila wasn't following their warnings?

Sethyl's expression didn't change. "Who told you this?"

"Enlyhn, Timmons, and Blood."

Sethyl frowned. He'd been hoping Wren would say either one of the ladies with him had said it or that Mitchell had. Those ones seemed to be in on jokes together—though he admittedly hadn't been around the guild enough to confirm it—and he was already figuring he couldn't believe half of what they said. But he didn't really know about the other three.

However, even as Sethyl considered this to be a real possibility—and quite possibly the reason Liila was such a bitch toward him; if she had tastes as screwed up as Wren was implying, it was no wonder she didn't think him attractive—his skepticism had all but jousted Wren's naivety.

Wren came from a family of warlocks. His grandfather, father, mother, and older brother were all masters of darkness—Wren was actually a bit of a disappointment to the family, seeing as he had almost no magical capacity toward anything—and they lied whenever they felt like it, if they thought it would either benefit or amuse them. For the longest time his father had been adamant that his mother had had an affair, which Wren was the result of...not that it was true.

Wren's eye twitched. How had he been so damn gullible? He paused, to consider that Blood had seemed to affirm the point as well.

He wasn't sure if death knights were as sociopathic as warlocks. Maybe they had been telling the truth? They did that _sometimes_ , if it was to further their own agenda. Perhaps the druid in question had crossed them? Or even Liila had? If family meant next to nothing to a warlock, he could hardly imagine that a guild would mean much more.

Just as Wren sunk into the depression that overcame him whenever he thought about his family and how they wished him to quietly disown himself so that he wouldn't be a blemish on the Duskflame name any longer, the ground shook.

The five travelers stopped their mounts and looked around.

The earth shook again. And again. And again.

In fact, it was a regular pattern, and a strange grinding accompanied it, as though some huge mechanical thing were walking. And it was getting closer.

As the void reaver came into sight from behind one of the hundreds of plateaus which made it impossible to see far in Thousand Needles, Wren paled. He'd heard of fel reavers, but before he could shout to run, or even wonder why the hell the monstrous mechanical construct was in Azeroth at all, the massive mountain of whirring parts knelt down in front of them.

Haa'aji slid off its shoulder and thudded to the ground, a grin spread firmly across his face as he trotted up to the others. He had to yell just to be heard over the machine behind him.

"He be pretteh amazin', yeh?"

Liila slid off her raptor and held out a small box to him. Haa'aji eyed it, his smile slipping. However, instead of trying to interrogate the quiet elf, he simply plucked the box from her hands and flipped open the latch. Sethyl had been of a mind to warn the troll of Sprocket's story about the box and its capabilities, when the area seemed to explode with springs and wheels and bolts and massive scraps of metal.

As the spare parts rained down on them, Liila threw up a few quick shields, though she seemed loathe to do so, and the group ran under the void reaver for cover. Haa'aji nodded approvingly as what looked to be a spare chest plate landed inches away from him with a hellish crash. However, as the cacophony died down, leaving them only partially deafened by the void reaver itself, Haa'aji turned to more closely inspect who had come to deliver his parts.

He eyed the two elven men before he began to speak. When he realized that they probably couldn't hear a word he was saying, he instead flipped his guild stone out and made a few extra taps to it before he ran his finger over its surface as though writing on it.

When he was done, he stared at them for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and retrieving their stones from their pockets for them. Apparently it hadn't occurred to him that they wouldn't hear the chimes over the noise of the void reaver.

The two looked at their stones and froze as runes flickered above the surface, seeming to linger longer than usual.

_If either of you breathe a word about this to anyone, I will kill you both in your sleep. Welcome to the guild :)_

At length, Wren tried to say something, but again realized that speaking was rather pointless. Thinking to be useful, he wrote a quick, "Okay" onto the stone and looked back at the troll. Haa'aji looked less than amused, though it only took a second to see why.

Their stones flickered with a quick response.

_Okay?_

_You're ready to be summoned? Thought you were gonna be a few days?_

Margaret and the others were watching their stones, too, apparently enjoying the events more so than their troll companion. Haa'aji ran his finger across his quickly.

_Mistell, but yeah. We're ready._


	11. Quel'Danas

The Aldor and the Scryers were working together and that was all butterflies and daisies, but it hardly concerned Wren. In fact, it hardly registered with him. He was still too freaked out by Haa'aji to really pay attention to his surroundings.

As soon as they'd arrived in Quel'Danas, Wren had taken advantage of the quiet afternoon to ask Haa'aji if it was really okay to leave all those parts lying around in the open—he'd made sure not to mention the void reaver—where travelers and adventurers might come across them. This had caught Gore's attention and Haa'aji had flippantly dismissed the subject, saying he had friends who would take care of it. By friends, he'd meant Liila, for when the summons were finished, Wren found that she was not going to be in attendance of the raid. However almost as soon as Gore turned his back to make sure everyone else was present and began to fill them in on the situation at the island, Haa'aji had slipped something out of Mitchell's bags and begun to play with it.

The next time Gore had turned his back, Haa'aji held up a small noose made out of thread. He'd pointed at it and then at Wren and then at it and then hid it away, dropping it back in Mitchell's things before anyone else was the wiser.

Worried that the troll would, at the very least, make his life somewhat miserable for a time to stress the importance of silence, Wren had spent the rest of the evening paranoid. Tizzle and Mitchell had made matters worse. While they didn't know the full details of what was going on, they picked up on the fact that he was nervous, and kept asking him questions like, "Did you see that?" or "Do you hear something weird?"

Thus Wren had jumped at the first chance offered to go with Gore and a few others to burn down some ships in the harbor and make a round of the coast, to make sure Kael'thas wouldn't be having any reinforcements coming along.

~"~

As Enlyhn flew through the air, his robes on fire, he had to wonder why he'd thought wearing an orb of the sin'dorei on his _earlobe_ would trick an elf into believing he was one of them. Well...it had worked, really. Until he'd tried to sleep with one of the lovely young magistrixes. He assumed young, anyway. In reality, the elf was probably older than his grandfather.

Fucking elves.

He landed with a thud against a wall, his pale red hair spilling over his disguise's shoulders as he willed the fires out of existence. The elf had been quite willing until she'd noticed that little trinket on his ear. Enlyhn had been experimenting different places to wear it and made a mental note that ears were a no go.

Luckily for him, the magistrix in question was too humiliated to have been fooled by a trinket to call for help. Thin and stick-looking as she was, he was still sorry that he would have to kill her. Blood elves could be pretty damn fun in bed.

He rose to his feet, his head throbbing from where it had slammed into granite. Thank the nether he was an orc or that might have done some permanent damage. The elf was ranting and raving, flames spilling through the air from her fingertips as she carelessly set half the room on fire in her rage.

Enlyhn stopped. She had just asked—demanded, really—that he tell her how he'd come to possess such a trinket. Was Kael'thas really employing people this stupid? Did she honestly think he was going to tell her about the two week adventure he and a few guild mates had gone on before the sin'dorei had joined the Horde, in which they learned the best ways to maneuver through the elven city without being seen as they explored its darkest secrets? Of course he wouldn't. If that story got out, the elves might worry about the fact that they could be dealt with quite easily, should they betray the Horde.

In theory, any race could. Enlyhn, Haa'aji, and a few others made a point of learning their allies' weaknesses, in case treachery ever came to light.

With a sigh, Enlyhn silenced the flames again and summoned his felhunter. As the demon forced the woman to defend herself rather than carelessly toss magic about, Enlyhn had to wish that being a warlock didn't directly lead to such a complete mistrust of pretty much any other living creature. But, life was what it was, and he'd subjugated and pissed off too many demons to go back now.

Just as he thought he had the upper hand and tossed a few curses toward the elf, her spell set changed and he suddenly found himself fighting nature magic instead of fire. As Enlyhn hesitated, dumbstruck, the elven woman was calling vines up through the floor of the room and ensnaring her adversary. Howl and Leafless had mentioned something about some sort of crystals that did something like this, but Enlyhn hadn't really cared to listen. The magic in the air was almost completely fel, and it was rather intoxicating for both he and any other warlock in the vicinity.

Summoning up all the hellfire and shadows he could, he barely managed to scorch away the vines before they could wrap around his neck and strangle him. He didn't wait to see what other tricks the woman might have, instead lunging forward and plunging his sword through her stomach.

For a moment, light danced around her hands—the fight might go on forever, should she start healing herself. Fortunately, his felhunter snapped its jaws down on her shoulder and neck, silencing her for good.

Even as his pet chewed on the corpse, savoring the taste of the unstable magic still within its host's shell, the door to the room swung open. For some reason the elves seemed to take the sounds of flames erupting behind closed doors rather seriously. Didn't they have warlocks of their own?

Enlyhn stiffened, his sword still dripping with the elf's blood. His felhunter dropped the elf and let out a low growl as it looked at the two blood knights who had come to investigate.

There was a long, awkward pause before one of them finally relaxed his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. "Dammit. I knew Lady Silria wasn't strong enough to control herself."

While Enlyhn wasn't quite sure what in the twisting abyss was going on, it occurred to him that his disguise was still intact. He wearily straightened up, looked grimly at his victim and mustered his best Thalassian—thank the nether Haa'aji had insisted Liila teach them all the language. "She just attacked me...I didn't want to hurt her."

The second sin'dorei walked over the charred carpet and patted Enlyhn on the shoulder. The warlock took advantage of the situation to pull some of his hair over his ear—as though attempting to fix his hairstyle—to cover his trinket. The elf nudged the woman with his foot, unsympathetic to her demise. "We're left with, what? Seven who can use the crystals?"

"Five," the first blood knight muttered, waiting for them at the door as Enlyhn walked out with the other, his felhunter following behind. "Apparently the fleet's been sunk. Lord Ashendawn and Magister Lightsflame were lost with it."

While Enlyhn would have loved to prod the two for more information, it was clear that if he had actually been working with them, he would have known about the elves in question. Instead, he decided that he'd grown tired of playing with the elves, and at the first chance he got, politely dismissed himself from their company. At first, the two insisted on taking him to see someone, just to make sure he hadn't been affected by Lady Silria's unstable magic—really, he figured they thought he might have tried to use the crystals himself, which he might have, had he known about them—but Enlyhn was able to duck out of it. He threw a few jokes around and told them he knew where he needed to go, once he didn't look like some bedraggled human, smudged with soot as he was.

The elves nodded and left him. By the time they realized he hadn't headed toward the residential part of the establishment, he had already found a nice window overlooking the coast, and jumped out.

~"~

Genji had gone with Wren and Gore to take out the fleet. After sinking the boats—which had been no small feat; who'd known so many paladins could fit in such a small space?—they had turned their attention to the eastern shore, where the naga were helping their injured allies back onto land.

While Genji was normally mildly freaked out by the naga, namely because he had a phobia of snakes, he barely noticed the way they were slithering toward him and his comrades. Instead, he was getting a very distracting vibe from the healer beside him: Khai'rhi. She had practically kicked both he and Ta'lim to the curb when she'd returned home the next day after her visit to Sham, and while she had let Ta'lim come back—after he'd realized that he couldn't cook to save his life and would likely either starve or go bankrupt buying meals at inns should he live on his own—she had not been so forgiving of Genji.

The mage nearly set Wren on fire as he vaguely aimed for elves. As the Farstrider cried out for him to watch what he was doing, he half nodded, glancing over to see that Khai'rhi looked mildly amused. While he was tempted to throw another fireball at Wren, to see if she might break out into a full smile, he decided against it when she noticed his attention, and her humor turned sour.

Genji wanted more than anything to drag Khai'rhi to the side and demand to know what the problem was, but held off on it. Part of him knew where such a conversation would head, and he couldn't go there. Perhaps he was just a coward, but he couldn't talk with her about the future or feelings.

He frowned as an elf fell out of the sky and landed in front of him with a thud. However, before he could set it alight, Enlyhn managed removed his orb of the sin'dorei. As Khai'rhi healed him, he muttered something about everyone using fire today.

While the singe marks on his garments pointed toward whatever he was talking about, no one asked. Even if they'd had time, it was Enlyhn; they didn't want to know what had happened. Tired as the warlock was, he joined them, enjoying the soft sucking sound as his shadow bolts slammed into the dripping nagas' bodies. With the morning he'd had, he needed a good stress relief.

It was almost twenty minutes later when Genji happened to glance back over his shoulder as a frost bolt narrowly missed him and frowned. Reaching out, he thwacked Enlyhn on the shoulder, interrupting the warlock's cast. As Enlyhn glared at him, Genji kept his eyes behind them. "Hey, mon...ya...ya don' happen ta have ya felhunta out, yeh?"

With a frown, Enlyhn followed the troll's gaze, and the question suddenly made sense. As the rest of the group turned to see what was going on, they froze. Enlyhn's felhunter was running to them at full speed, a pack of elves chasing it.

Genji ran a hand over his face. "Realleh mon?"


	12. The Magister's Terrace

Sethyl felt somewhat betrayed. Liila had to have known she wouldn't be attending the raid. Had she planned the whole trip, knowing she wouldn't have to make good on her end of the deal? And by the Light, why _wasn't_ she here? Was she afraid the sin'dorei would attack her? He watched a few humans stroll by with a dwarf and frowned. It seemed like someone could have told her the Alliance would be there. Or was she afraid of being spotted by them?

As he glowered, Margaret slapped his shoulder in good humor, though her smile slipped as he sent her a glare. "You really, _really_ need to lighten up."

Sethyl eyed the forsaken woman for a moment. She must have been pretty in life—for a human—with high cheekbones and what looked to have once been auburn colored hair. He could almost picture what she would have been like, her eerie smile replaced with a brilliant one.

In a blink, her face was an inch from his, the yellow glow from her eyes taking on an almost menacing light. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I wouldn't waste your time on it."

Sethyl took a step back. His hand instinctively went for the sword hanging on his back. However, he caught himself before he could do anything stupid and shook his head, his earlier mood returning. "I was just wondering about Liila, is all."

While Margaret didn't buy it, she was glad to direct his mind elsewhere. "Perhaps I can be of assistance." When Sethyl arched one of his long eyebrows, she plucked two corners of her robes and held the fabric out before letting it fall back against her. "As a clothie, I don't like to see my meat shields distracted."

Sethyl wasn't sure he liked the woman's phrasing, but he supposed he ought to take advantage of the offer, in the very least. "Why isn't she coming?"

"Because she's cursed." Margaret replied quickly and then shrugged. "It's really her tale to tell, but I will say that—while we're not sure, we don't think she can be too close to the Scourge or very bad things will happen...and not just to her. It has to do with that death knight I mentioned, though this isn't the place to fill you in. Too many eavesdroppers."

Sethyl nodded slowly as he noticed a few elves a yard or so away straighten up and abruptly resume their tasks, as though their curiosity hadn't been what had directed them near the odd heroes. How could a curse involving the Scourge have led her to furbolgs in Kalimdor? "And the bet?"

"Which one?" When Sethyl looked surprised, Margaret let out a rasping laugh. "We...a few of us like to bet each other on various things. You'll have to be more specific."

"A yearlong bet with Haa'aji."

"Oh, that," Margaret shrugged her shoulders and let her arms hang at her sides. He didn't like when she grew still...she looked deader than usual. "Liila was really frustrated by some stuff that happened a while back, and Haa'aji joked around and said she was miserable company. When she asked what he wanted her to do about it, as she felt she had a right to be pissed...and honestly, I agree with her..." Margaret held up her hands to stop Sethyl's protests. "Her story to tell, if she wants you to know it. Anyway, Haa'aji said that by being so upset she was letting the pricks who'd pissed her off win. The end result was that Haa'aji bet her that she couldn't refrain from showing her emotions for a year."

Sethyl stared at her for a long moment. "Why would anyone make a bet like that?"

"Hmm, I suppose you haven't been in the guild long enough to figure it out, but don't try to understand Haa'aji...or Liila." Margaret shrugged.

Whilst the two talked about the oddities that made up Haa'aji and Liila's personalities, Mitchell watched them from a distance, a frown etched across his face. Margaret wasn't normally so helpful to newcomers. While yes, they had been warned—threatened, really—by the guild leaders to be extra nice to the elves, she still seemed overly fond of them.

Mitchell glowered at Sethyl, nitpicking in his mind how the paladin's armor was scratched and worn and how he'd clearly given up on keeping up his appearances. Weren't elves supposed to pride themselves on their looks? Maybe he was just an ugly one and had given up competing with all the others present.

And he was a _paladin_. That meant he was an amoral asshole, right? It was the paladins who were always trying to kill Liila.... Had Sethyl joined the guild to try to eliminate her? And after hearing the way the paladins had harnessed their power over the Light...the forsaken had a hard enough time keeping their reputations out of the gutter, so to speak, so could they really afford to keep vouching for the elves? It wasn't like the sin'dorei were really needed in the Horde.

So enraptured was he by his thoughts of how horrible a person Sethyl must be and how useless pally buffs were, he didn't even notice as Haa'aji and Timmons walked up, and he remained oblivious until Timmons hooked his fingers under the straps crisscrossing Mitchell's face and jerked up.

With a scratchy gasp, Mitchell clawed at his bondage and pulled them back into place, turning to glare sightlessly at the two behind him. When he tried to get revenge by flipping back the warlock's hood, Timmons simply dodged out of his reach.

Timmons frowned as he looked over the young mage. Mitchell could be such a child. Despite whatever he might be working on for the Royal Apothecary Society, Timmons knew the mage to be naive. It was that naivety which bred jealousy, and he could see such notions boiling under the boy's bindings. Eyes truly were a window to the soul, and Timmons had hoped to catch a telling glance before Mitchell had hidden them again, but it had been to no avail.

Haa'aji dismissed the standoff between 'lock and mage. Without being able to see either of their faces clearly, it was always hard to tell who was winning. The troll stretched, making a point to sigh loudly, so as to catch not only the duo's attention beside him, but also a few Scryers' and Aldors' as they scurried to and fro, trying to fortify their pitiful claim to the northern part of the island.

He looked around the area, his eyes all but glassing over. "Wat we gon' ta do, mon? Ah was tinkin' dis be furtha along den it be. Ah coulda stayed wit' me pet projec'."

Mitchell crossed his arms and rested against the nearest whimsical looking fence. Why did elves have to make everything look so dainty? "The whole point of being here is to help out."

"But we're not normally all here for that..." Timmons muttered. He'd quickly learned after being freed from the Lich King that helping out let to higher and higher expectations which he didn't feel he needed to meet. He would much rather be that asshole who'd set someone on fire in sheer boredom than the hero who saved someone's life.

Mitchell shrugged as Haa'aji slouched against a passing draenei. The man tried to ask Haa'aji to stop using him as a resting post, but the troll merely spoke in taur-ahe and then stared blankly at his new victim as the draenei tried to string together an orcish sentence. Mitchell tugged Haa'aji away from the Aldor with an apologetic nod to the man before addressing his guild mates. "Well, we could always move things along ourselves." He paused to rummage through his bags for a few notes he'd jotted down on different tasks the Shattered Sun Offensive had been looking for people to do and paused to pull a small noose made out of thread. "What the—"

"Meh gods, mon," Haa'aji frowned and shook his head with mild disgust. "Ah know ya be dead, but do ya got ta be so mo’bid?"

Even as Mitchell tried to say that he was fairly certain he hadn't made the little noose and wondered out loud if it were possible for the thread to have gotten tangled up and ended up in such a shape on its own, Haa'aji grinned and slung an arm over each forsaken before abruptly dragging them over to Sethyl and Margaret who were arguing to agree to disagree that Haa'aji and Liila were psychotic. The troll released his clothie companions and leaned against one of Sethyl's shoulders, his head easily over a foot above the elf's. "Ah be agreein' wit' de elf, mehself. Dem two a awful creatas. Jus' awful."

"Here to threaten my life again?" Sethyl snapped, glaring toward the troll.

Haa'aji donned a hurt look and put his hands over his heart. "Wat ya be talkin' bout, yeh? Ah come ova ta see if ya be as bored as me 'n de othas 'n ya response ta mah consida'ation be so hostile?"

Sethyl eyed the troll for a moment. "I already told someone that I'd help gather some berries from the woods the wretched are occupying."

"Oh?" Haa'aji cocked his head and glanced in the general direction of the trees. "Ya be a herbalist?"

"No—"

"Den how ya gon ta be gettin' de right berries, hmm?"

Glancing toward Margaret and the others, Sethyl tried to see if any of their faces would betray whether this was a joke or not. However, Margaret had taken to teasing Mitchell about his thread noose, and Timmons had wandered off a few feet to set a butterfly alight. Sethyl looked back at the troll. "She told me what to look for."

"Ya know what ya should be doin'?" Haa'aji motioned toward the inn. "Leave de plant life ta Whispa 'n de otha herbalists. Dey prolly be gettin' betta ones, ripa 'n such, ya tink?"

Sethyl crossed his arms. "Well, if I'm not to help with the berries, what would you have me do?"

The troll turned a critical eye toward him. After tilting his head one way and then the other, Haa'aji lightly reached out and took Sethyl by the shoulders, slowly turning him one way and then the other. "Paladins masta de holeh Light, yeh?"

"Yes...."

Before Sethyl could ask why, Haa'aji nodded once. He leaned down, wrapped an arm around Sethyl's waist and then lifted the elf over his shoulder and started strolling down the walkway, heading up toward a building that he'd heard some Scryers calling the Magister's Terrace. Even as Sethyl struggled to reach his weapon and teach the troll some manners, Haa'aji turned around, walking backwards up the path, and called out to the other three. "Ya comin' a wat? Le's go kill us sum elves."

~"~

Haa'aji sat perched atop a broken arcane guardian, eyeing Sethyl with a look of disappointment. "Ya be a piss poor heala, mon."

"I already told you: I'm ret," the elf muttered. He considered making another run for the exit, but decided against it. Haa'aji was faster than he was, and he was tired of being carried around like a damsel in distress. He tapped a few mana crystals as he finished off his drink, frowning when he noticed he was running low on the teas he'd brought with him. While Mitchell had made him some water, something about it seemed off, and he'd politely stuffed them down into the bottom of his satchel.

Mitchell was as disappointed as Haa'aji. If his plan had worked, he would be working with the newest addition to the forsaken community, a plagued elf paladin. As he paused to wonder if Sethyl would maintain control over the Light, were he risen, Haa'aji abruptly jumped off his perch and nailed two felblood elves as they came over to investigate the source of the noise from the group's earlier skirmish with the construct. Having shoved his dagger through one of their faces, he paused and glanced back at the others. "Any of you want his robe?" When all three forsaken shook their heads, he looked at Sethyl expectantly.

The paladin frowned. "Dressing me in a robe won't turn me into a healer."

Mitchell ran his fingers over the broken guardian as Haa'aji stripped the dead elf anyway, pocketing the robe and saying something about Wrachette loving him forever. "I still kind of want one of these for the guild. I think they'd be easier to manage than...you know."

As Haa'aji nodded, Sethyl's eye twitched. "Oh, he can talk about it, but I can't?"

With a laugh, Margaret strolled ahead of the group. "Mitchell knows who to avoid." She paused to ice block another elf coming to check on his companions and then shattered the block with her staff. "And Timmons doesn't care. He keeps our secrets, we keep his."

Even with her success, she still trotted back so that Haa'aji would be the first one any enemies would come across. The rogue started to go forward, but stopped as he saw Sethyl glare his way. "If you pull before I get my mana back, I _will_ let you die."

Haa'aji inspected him as though trying to see if the paladin were bluffing and then crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, looking annoyed. "Mana, mana, mana. Ah tink ya castas be makin' dis shit up. Dea be no such ting as mana."

Margaret rolled her eyes as Haa'aji went off on a tangent about how real casters didn't need mana because they were magic. When Timmons countered his comment with something that he felt was proof of mana's existence and how _he_ needed it, Haa'aji coughed the word failure into his hand.

Annoyed as he was, Sethyl was also somewhat amazed. He had never really fought enemies without any type of tank before, and the fact that they'd already made it past a bunch of wretched, found a Scryer scout, and killed a strange void creature, and were all still standing was more than a little miraculous.

Though Timmons would have loved to remedy that that last part.

The warlock had wanted to attempt to tame, so to speak, the void creature. He'd made the group wait almost twenty minutes as he hunched low to the ground, drawing meticulous runic circles of binding. Just as he was looking them over to make sure he hadn't misplaced any runes or forgotten one, Mitchell had rolled his eyes, cried out a sarcastic 'Oh no', and hit the creature with a—suspected purposely—failed sheep spell, which had caught its attention. Even as Mitchell ran in zigzags as he pummeled the creature with arcane spells, Timmons had tried to salvage his plan. Mitchell had helped to redirect the warlock's attention to killing the creature by slipping over the ground and smudging out half of the circle.

After that, a few stray fireballs had threatened to leave Mitchell without a face, but a harsh word from Margaret had gotten the two to make up. Sort of... Sethyl eyed Timmons as he considered that the forsaken was probably still biding his time. Grouping with the three of them, he had to say that forsaken humor and interactions were...mildly offensive. They kept making jokes about how it would be easier to just plague the terrace or threatening to kill each other. They always cackled after such jokes, as though it were so funny that they could die a second time. Mitchell had even said one joke in gutterspeak which had left the other two eyeing Sethyl, as though they were worried about what he would do if he'd understood them.

Sethyl blinked as Margaret burst out into a fresh bout of laughter, only to be silenced when Haa'aji slapped a hand over her mouth. The troll frowned at all of them. "Til we put sum distance between us 'n dat dragon, le's be quieta, yeh?"

Sethyl had practically forgotten about that giant lizard. Just after they'd defeated the void creature, they'd wandered out onto a terrace overlooking the bay. Even as he'd paused to see the devastation—the demons wreaking havoc, the shadowy figures of the wretched moving beneath the cover of the trees, the naga along the shore, and the blind followers to the traitor prince—Haa'aji had shouldered Sethyl and Timmons as Mitchell had grabbed Margaret's hand and run inside.

Just as Haa'aji turned the corner into the building, Sethyl had seen a large blue dragon landing and light flash around him, as was customary when such creatures shifted their forms. Sethyl was rather confused as to why they'd run from the dragon. It hadn't come down breathing fire and roaring, so was it necessarily an enemy?

Mitchell noticed the confusion on Sethyl's face and sighed as he scratched the back of his head. "Haa'aji and I…had an incident in Azshara."

"By incident," Margaret picked up, slinging an arm over Sethyl's shoulders, "He means that they teamed up with Blood and Honor, a war guild, and they went out and killed themselves a dragon. A blue dragon." She glared back at the other two. "Who hadn't been doing anything to them. Wasn't trying to eat people or anything. He was just...happy to exist. And they slaughtered him."

Timmons' lips turned up at the corners. "It wouldn't have been so bad if a few other dragons hadn't been coming to collect their peer right about the time he was vanquished."

Mitchell stared at the ground. "Yeah...they really don't like us."

Rolling her eyes, Margaret shook her head, her limp hair swishing dully from the motion. "Two drakes flew overhead and saw a group of adventurers, realized they couldn't help their friend and flew home, and these two morons think the whole flight is after them because of it."

"Dem dragons be scareh, mon," Haa'aji said, his face and tone serious for once. He shuddered. "If de blue ones be ahnetin like de black ones, ah days be numba'd."

"You killed it two years ago."

"'N dat be a blink ta a dragon," Haa'aji said, somber.

While Sethyl was at first baffled that the rogue was actually afraid of anything—he seemed the type who was too stupid to register fear—he noticed the way Mitchell shivered, and it suddenly occurred to him that Haa'aji was screwing with the mage just as much as he'd been screwing with him earlier.

He looked back at the rogue a mixture of awe and disdain on his features. Was Haa'aji ever actually serious about anything?

Haa'aji drummed his fingers against his elbow and then frowned. "Fuck dis waitin', ah be goin' ta scout ahead." He'd faded out before he even finished speaking, leaving a disembodied voice to finish his thoughts.

Mitchell eyed his sleeve, as though he wished to appear nonchalant. "You know, Sethyl...conjured water helps restore magic faster than regular drinks."

"Really?" Sethyl frowned. He didn't trust the corpse as far as he could throw him. "I never heard that before."

"Yeah..." With a shrug, Mitchell motioned toward Sethyl's belongings. "I think I gave you some earlier."

Even with the mage's eyes covered, he could feel them boring holes into him, and Sethyl sighed, opening his bags to pull one out. He stopped and frowned as he stared at a robe resting on top of his things. His frown deepened when he found other trinkets and 'loot' from their adversaries resting beneath the robe on his belongings. He tried not to think about the fact that he was holding a dead man's robes—that he'd been killed in—in his hands.

Margaret snickered. "Haa'aji's backs must be getting full." She curled her fingers in the air, making them look almost like claws as she wove magic together and then held out a small water pouch. "Here. This'll probably be faster than trying to find the stuff Mitchell gave you."

Sethyl made a mental note to never accept any type of food from Mitchell again as he saw the younger mage scowl, though he quickly tried to hide it.

However, before Mitchell could try to think of a way to salvage his plan to plague their paladin, Haa'aji reappeared beside him. The troll stretched his arms over his head, cracking his shoulders and yawning as he motioned toward the next room with his chin. "It be a clusta fuck in dea, mon. Dea got ta be nea'ly forteh elves 'n demons 'n such."

Sethyl shifted his weight. He wanted to attack something instead of having to hang back and throw his pitiful heals about. "Should we just pull a group at a time?"

With a 'how stupid are you' look, Haa'aji rolled his eyes. "Yeh, mon. 'Cause nahbodeh'll notice dea friends disappeain'. Ah know de elves be high as kites, but de demons 'n naga 'n such ain'."

Timmons cocked his head. "Think Margaret and Mitchell could throw up some sort of glamour?"

Scoffing, Sethyl shook his head. "These are some of my people's most masterful spellweavers and magisters, and you think they'll fall for some simple trick?"

While both mages took mild offense to Sethyl's lack of confidence in their capabilities, Margaret shrugged it off. "The amount of time it would take to put together something complex enough to fool them wouldn't be worth it. It'd be faster to just run back outside and ask for a tank." She paused to give Sethyl a pointed look. "And a healer, at that."

Haa'aji squatted down and drummed his fingers against one of his knees. "Timmons, mon. How 'bout dis? Ya dismiss ya felhunta 'n sen' ya imp ta see if dat dragon still be dea. If it be dea, have de imp piss him off 'n run back inta dea." He pointed toward the next room. "We be hidin' hea 'n follow afta de dragon."

"I can see that failing on so many levels."

Haa'aji glared at Sethyl. "Don see ya givin' 'neh good ideas yaself."

"I didn't say that...."Sethyl frowned at him before his gaze wandered past the rogue, and he clamped his jaw shut, paling. 

Haa'aji blinked and turned to see over a dozen sin'dorei already casting and charging toward them.

~"~

Ta'lim nudged the orb that had been left by the void creature with his bow and looked back over his shoulder to Shadow and Sham. "Don tink we need ta be hea. Dey got dis."

Shadow considered stomping the little orb to pieces, but fought the urge. He gave Sham a half grin. "In another year, we're gonna be obsolete."

Sham crossed her arms with mock offense. "I don't know about you, but there will always be fools who need heals."

Shadow let out a rumbling laugh that left Ta'lim's raptor cowering. While the death knight had meant no harm, he frowned at the terrified creature, snapping his mouth shut. Sham and Ta'lim were so used to him, that they could tune out the undertones that went with his voice and see him for the gentle giant he had once been. Ta'lim's pet, however, hadn't been around him nearly as much, and even if it had, Shadow had learned a long time ago that nature was much less forgiving of his fate than people were.

As Ta'lim wondered if he should offer Shadow an apology for his raptor's natural instincts or just pretend it hadn't happened, the creature abruptly perked up and hissed. Ducking its head low, it took off down the hall toward the terrace. With little else to do, the trio followed it, though they halted as they came up to see the raptor had stopped a few feet in front of what appeared to be a human man with blue hair.

The raptor darted from side to side, as though it were unsure whether to consider the man an enemy. As Ta'lim called it back to him, Kalecgos nodded respectfully their way and took a few steps toward them.

The dragon had been sure that there had been a group of five down here earlier, but somehow, in the time it'd taken him to land and switch forms, he'd lost them. He'd just been debating whether he ought to take the right or left door in search of them when the raptor had appeared. While these weren't the adventurers he'd originally seen, he'd take what he could get.

When he noticed that they seemed guarded, it occurred to him that they probably thought he was alliance, and he raised one of his arms, allowing scales to ripple across his flesh briefly. When his skin had returned to look like that of a normal human's, he spoke to them in orcish. "Be still mortals, and hark into my words. Kil'jaeden must be destroyed."

~"~

Mitchell had gotten over becoming forsaken surprisingly quickly, even if he had gouged his eyes out in a foolish attempt to scramble his own brain and make himself useless to the Scourge. Further, he hadn't really found a true calling for himself until after his undeath. As a result, Mitchell's only real meaningful existence had been as a forsaken, and he was not one to give it up easily.

That was why, when faced with his second death, he had panicked. Instead of trying to methodically down the strongest of the elves and working as a group, he had called upon fire. Lots and lots of fire.

Sham and the others barely had time to duck back onto the terrace before flames erupted out the door. As the fire died down, still licking the ceiling of the room and incinerating what was left of the tapestries along the walls, Sham ran into the hall and came to a stop, seeing Mitchell at the center of the scorch marks.

For an arcane mage, he'd done a pretty damn good job burning everything away. Margaret and Sethyl's bubbles were just coming down as Shadow and Ta'lim joined their pseudo guild leader, all of them equally dumbstruck.

One of the charred corpses abruptly shivered, and the worst of its burns healed over. Timmons sat up, thanking the nether for soul stones as Sham hit him with a chain heal. Even as the orc hurried over to check on him and see which other corpse might be their beloved troll, the arcane guardian from earlier shuddered from its place against the wall. At a glance, it looked as though it had been blown there from the force of the fire, but Margaret was quick to command Shadow to pull it away, remembering her rogue companion to have been near it right when everything had burst into flames.

Haa'aji slumped to the ground from behind the half melted guardian as the death knight dragged the mass of etched stone into the center of the hall, and another round of chain heals lit up the room. Haa'aji took in a few gasping breaths before grinning up at Mitchell. "Dat been amazin', mon."

It wasn't until Mitchell had almost stopped breathing—he'd been so panicked, he'd started—that he bothered to look over and saw Ta'lim hadn't moved far from the door. Instead, he was kneeling beside what was left of his raptor, his mouth hanging open as he awkwardly lay his hand on the still smoking flesh.

As Mitchell floundered for an appropriate apology for killing the pet, Haa'aji cracked his back and strolled over to him, patting the mage's shoulder. "At leas' ya didn' kill nahbody irreplaceable."

"You killed me," Timmons hissed, pulling his singed hood lower to make sure it still covered the upper half of his face. The warlock paused to smash his staff into one of the corpses nearest him, as though he expected it to somehow take advantage of his soul stone and resurrect with him.

As Ta'lim gathered his wits, they heard the sounds of voices from the room beyond. The flames had attracted more attention from their adversaries.

Shadow stepped to the head of the group, bracing himself to take on whatever came at them and he paused to nod over his shoulder to Haa'aji and the others. "Once we've taken care of these, there's something we need to tell you...about what Kael'thas is plotting."


	13. Mastery Crystals

The Shattered Sun Offensive wasn't sure if things were progressing according to some hectic plan, or if the Horde guild which had arrived to assist them was just incredibly, stupidly lucky. They didn't know whether they ought to congratulate them on certain perceived victories, or laugh at them as blunders.

Howl didn't really care. Let the masses think as they wanted; Kael'thas' forces were diminishing by the hour.

Howl had been the only member of the guild not to be actively recruited. Rather, when Gore and Gregor had still been tossing around the notion of starting a guild, Howl had come to them, saying that they would need people. Prior to his joining, he had been one of Orgrimmar's master blacksmiths. While technically he still was, he was also almost never there and had passed his business on to two of his apprentices. Every so often, they would send word to him that they needed his assistance on making something truly awe inspiring, but for the most part his smithing was now limited to whatever the guild might need, including repairs. Howl could mend armor like no other...and he did it for free, for his guild mates.

While Gregor and Gore still sometimes wondered how the orc had even known they'd been considering starting a guild, they were glad to have him. He'd proved his worth time and time again, between fixing up damaged weapons and tracking down information. Who'd have thought a warrior who had never left Orgrimmar since its establishment would be so good at gathering intel?  He was bested only by the rogues—some considered him better than Roberts, because he had the time to track down information, while the deathstalker was often busy serving Sylvanas.

Howl frowned as he stared across the small courtyard where the Offensive had set up base. He was supposed to have been gathering with half a dozen other guild mates to eliminate the demonic portal a few streets over. However, he stood alone. Couldn't an orc relieve himself behind a tree and not miss something?

He glanced around the area to make sure none of the members of the Offensive were overly close to him. When he was content that he'd have a few seconds before they—the elves in particular—descended upon him, he pulled his guild stone out of his pocket to check for any missed messages and sighed, understanding what had happened.

Apparently Enlyhn had been a complete idiot, and Whisper, Cloudless, Sprocket, Lash, and Leafless had hurried to the eastern coast to save their guild mates from being overrun by angry elves and naga.

The soft crunch of a boot on gravel near him caught Howl's attention, and he jerkily shoved his stone back into his pocket. A rather timid looking elven mage stood less than a yard away from him, her eerie eyes glowing with a look of mixed curiosity and disappointment.

With a glare, Howl deterred the latest attempt to strike up a conversation about his guild stone. It wasn't that he didn't think the elves would benefit from such technology; it was that he didn't know the mechanics behind it, being a warrior and all, and he didn't like the eerie way their glowing eyes seemed to brighten at the thought of unknown magic. He could feel several pairs of eyes on him, and he suddenly thought of one of Haa'aji's little rants about 'soulless windows'. He could understand it now.

The orc frowned as he almost visibly shivered and strode through the area; he didn't want the elves to know that he was uneasy around them. While he doubted they could smell fear, he didn't want to give them time to pick up on his unrest. And he didn't want to give them an opening to take his guild stone to examine themselves. That had happened to Cinder once in Rachet. As a result, the guild had had to ditch their original stones and make brand new ones, just so the mages in Rachet wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.

Howl scanned the different members of the Offensive, pondering what he could do by himself. The portal would probably have to wait for the time being. As his gaze swept over the area again, he noticed a single draenei woman sitting near the statue in the center of the courtyard, going through a few documents. She seemed to be the only member of the Offensive who wasn't already bogged down with people asking her what to do.

He started toward her and then hesitated.

Of the guild, his common was by far the worst. He could read it to some extent, but his spoken vocabulary was sparse. Generally, when dealing with neutral factions who didn't know orcish, he would just wait for someone else to pick up a few tasks and then assist them. Such actions had given him the reputation for being a quiet, stoic type in Shattrath.

While he didn't want to make a fool of himself by proving how little he knew of the most commonly used language in Azeroth, if he didn't get to killing something soon, he was going to go crazy.

He came up to the woman and stood quietly in front of her for a moment. Her head was bent down as she looked over what appeared to be financial records for the Offensive. Howl shifted his weight uneasily. However, even as he decided that he should let her be, one of his boots scuffed against the cobblestones beneath him, and she snapped her glowing gaze up, looking quite startled to see him.

An awkward silence settled over the two before Howl finally coughed to clear his throat. He glanced around again, feeling as though he were trapped. "What...needs be done?"

~"~

As the draenei woman took it upon herself to help Howl with his grammar, Wrachette sat perched atop the highest tower that the Offensive had taken when they'd stormed the harbor, watching him from her vantage. However, it seemed that his conversation was going nowhere quickly, and she grew bored, her gaze wandering out to look over the rest of the area. It was thanks to her that they'd arrived so early.

She was tired of always showing up just in time to kill the boss, like she had for both Magtheridon and Gruul—Karazhan had been fun, and it was actually that raid, in which more than a few people fell from towers, took part in the opera, and nearly got eaten by a dragon, that she decided she wanted in on the fun more often. Hence her trip to the Molten Core, which had been a sore disappointment.

She wanted to have adventures like Margaret's. Thus, she'd managed to convince the 'scouting' expedition to call for the guild early. It hadn't been easy either. They hadn't wanted to drag everyone away from their day jobs. Gore and Roberts, for example, would be missed from their posts. But Wrachette had known her stupid brother wouldn't have come unless the rest of the guild did, and she always had this inexplicable terror that if she left him alone in Booty Bay, when she came back he wouldn't be there. She'd managed to overcome it for Molten Core, but again, nothing had happened there, and she was somehow certain that if she had an amazing adventure, it would end with her losing her brother...unless he was part of it, of course. Then she could keep an eye on him, even if he was older by two minutes.

Tizzle didn't seem to have the same fears of abandonment. While it pissed her off that he either assumed she would always be there or just didn't care, she tried not to let it show. Tizzle had done a good job taking care of her all through their childhood, and she didn't want to seem ungrateful.

The little goblin jumped as Roberts collapsed down beside her, sitting with that forsaken hunch as he inspected their surroundings as well. Wrachette fought back a sinking feeling...Roberts was one of the three major intel gatherers in the guild, so he was probably here because he knew she was the reason he wasn't off sneaking into Gilneas on a follow up mission.

While she was right that he knew, she was wrong to think he might despise her for it. In truth, Roberts didn't care. He enjoyed his raiding guild more so than his rogue one, but kept at it so as to keep himself busy during downtimes.

Though some might think it odd to have two guilds, in truth, many deathstalkers had 'show' guilds, to help mask what they really were.

For Roberts however, his heart was more into raiding, and he sorely missed the good old days before he'd been blackmailed into becoming a deathstalker, back when he, Haa'aji, Timmons, and a few others had had their share of mishaps and adventures. At the end of the day, a job was just a job. If he couldn't finish it, someone else could...or he could just find a way to do it later. He never missed a raid.

Roberts stopped abruptly and pointed out toward the western side of the island. "Did you see that?"

Wrachette perked up and narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better view. However, all she saw were trees. Just as she was about to dejectedly answer no, it happened.

A small flicker of light from somewhere beneath the leaves. Roberts already had his map out and was looking over what should have been there. It was supposed to be nothing but forest.

With a frown, he rose to his feet slowly and then looked down at Wrachette. "Want to find out what it is?"

He didn't need to ask twice. Already, the goblin had hopped up and was heading down the spiral stairs of the tower.

~"~

While Howl appreciated the draenei's eagerness to help him learn common, he really wanted to run away. He was there to kill things, right wrongs, triumph over evil, not to get a lesson in nouns in common. It was because of that that he nearly hugged the brittle old bag of bones when Roberts came over and asked him if he wanted to accompany him and Wrachette.

Even as Howl offered the Offensive woman a poorly conjugated goodbye, Roberts looked back down at Wrachette, who was applying shaman buffs to her axes gleefully. "Do you think you'd be able to heal for us?"

Wrachette's eyes rolled up slowly so that she could look up at him. "I don't heal, friend."

Roberts arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Not even for something so casual?"

"Whisper told me all about how ya guys work," Wrachette strapped her axes to her back and then pointed accusingly at her guild mate. "Ya ask all sweet like for heals and then if ya find somebody's good at it, BAM!" She stomped her foot, and the draenei woman jumped. "They never get ta fight again. No thank ya. I'm not a healer."

Howl trotted over to them as the draenei woman looked like she was about to say something else. He was relieved to be able to speak orcish again. "I think I saw Tizzle over near the inn."

The trio wandered over that way, though they didn't even bother to go up the stairs as they saw Tizzle standing on a stack of crates so that he could look the draenei innkeeper in the eyes without having to crane his neck back.

"I tell you," the woman was angry, and she waved a finger through the air, as though to kill Tizzle's objections. "The cost is forty silver a night. This is good deal. You go to other places, they charge far more."

Tizzle crossed his arms. "And I'm tellin' ya, I can't part with more than twenty-five silver."

"It costs money to house, to feed. I charge only what I need to run business."

Scoffing, Tizzle looked the woman up and down. "Ya expect me ta believe ya ain’t gettin' a copper of profit out of this place?"

The woman's mouth formed a thin line, and she abruptly pointed out toward the rest of the island. "The profit is that people stay to retake this island."

Tizzle slapped the back of his hand into his palm. "Look lady. I get that, really I do. But I'm tellin' ya that I can't stay ta help, if I have ta pay forty silver. Ya breakin' my bank."

Howl took a step forward, but felt long fingers catch his hand and looked down to see Wrachette shake her head. "Leave him be. He ain't goin' anywhere any time soon."

Both Roberts and Howl frowned when Wrachette merely shrugged. However, before Roberts could pull out his guild stone and see if there was anyone else available to help, a soft cough interrupted their brooding. The draenei woman who had been helping Howl with common stood behind them. She waved slightly, nervous, and gave them a tentative smile.

"You need healer, yes?" Her draenei accent was heavier than most, and even Roberts had difficulty understanding her, seeing as he hadn't used common often in years.

Wrachette, however, simply crossed her arms as she appraised the woman. As a business woman, it benefited her to understand all accents and most all languages. "Ya offerin' ta heal?"

The woman nodded, her hands clasped in front of her. "Yes. I help you...with woods, you say?"

Wrachette had to wonder how this woman had been helping Howl with anything linguistically. "Hold on a second." Even as she held up a finger toward the woman, she looked at the other two and switched back to orcish. "She says she wants ta heal for us."

Howl furrowed his brow. "She does know we're Horde, correct?"

Wrachette rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Look, she's Shattered Sun. That makes her neutral, like me."

Neither Roberts nor Howl voiced that being in a Horde guild hardly made her neutral. Rather, Howl shrugged. "If she can keep up, then she's welcome to come, I suppose. After all, it wouldn't do to get caught by off guard without a healer."

Wrachette nodded to Howl and then looked back at the draenei woman, who was still waiting patiently in front of them. Giving her a thumbs up, Wrachette grinned. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Veena Lightsway," the woman curtseyed and nodded politely as the others offered their names quickly.

Introductions aside, Roberts marked the point of interest on Howl's map, and they headed into the forest.

Veena was a discipline priest, and the group figured it would be fun to run with her if only for that, seeing as Tizzle was loathe to go into his off spec, instead generally sticking with holy.

She proved to be an apt healer, if not a little overzealous, always tossing heals and shields around even when there wasn't really anything to fight. It was as though she feared she would be discarded as ineffective.

Honestly, Roberts hated it, seeing as he was forsaken. The Light burned when it washed over him, even if it did heal his injuries. It was because of this that he began to ponder if perhaps the healer were secretly threading some curse over them, masking it as excessive heals. By the Light, if the draenei kept it up, she just might jump start his heart.

The majority of their trip into the woods was uneventful. They were hardly attacked by any wretched, which were supposed to be crawling beneath the shadows of the foliage, and only once did they see a stray guardian construct wandering past. It didn't even register them, instead angrily attacking a branch that had been broken by Light knew what.

They left the broken machine alone, though Roberts did send off a quick message about it to Mitchell, and headed on.

Just when they were beginning to suspect that the lights had merely been a reflection from spells being cast somewhere else on the island—it was a far stretch, by anyone's imagination, but stranger things _had_ happened before—they stumbled into a small clearing littered with the bodies of wretched. The creatures had been mutilated, and their magic drained from their bodies, leaving them as dry husks.

Veena covered her mouth with a hand, turned a shade paler as she took in the carnage. Howl reached out and patted her shoulder roughly, mumbling 'it's okay' in common as best he could. While Veena smiled faintly at him, her color did not return.

Whilst Howl sought to comfort their gentle healer, Roberts was busy inspecting the bodies. Wrachette walked up next to him and looked down as well. Her eyes lit up, and she reached down for a small, glittering earring on one of the bodies, though she paused to make sure Veena wasn't watching before she took it. She had a feeling the draenei was the righteous kind who wasn't above scolding, and honestly, she just didn't feel like listening to some priest she barely knew spouting nonsense about disrespecting the dead. Where was the disrespect? It's not like they were using their things anymore.

Roberts inspected another of the creatures, frowning. "I can't tell if they did this to each other or if it was something else."

"A bigger, badder wretched?" Wrachette offered, drawing her axes and scanning the forest. She'd almost finished her three-sixty, when she noticed something drip down off to her right. She paused and, ears dropping, hated herself for what she was about to do. Turning her gaze upward slowly, she only had a split second to register the grinning, broken toothed smile of the creature in the tree branches above them before their world was engulfed in harsh, arcane light.

It was then that they appreciated Veena's over-healing. As the light subsided, Howl barely had time to sidestep the wretched as it lunged at him, spittle and blood dripping from its mouth. The thing had been chewing on its own lip.

The creature stumbled, thrown off by its attack missing, and Wrachette ran up and nailed it with one of her axes. As her blade hit the creature's leg, it let out a wail and retaliated, spinning about and kicking the goblin square in her chest.

She let out a cry as she flew backwards, though she was already enveloped in another bubble before she hit the ground again. The wretched stopped and straightened up, almost looking like a normal elf for a moment. Its eyes were glued on Veena, the only caster in the group.

The shell of an elf lunged toward her, though Roberts easily darted up behind it, caught it, and snapped its neck. The creature fell, twitching, to the ground before finally growing still.

With a withered sigh, Roberts walked over to Wrachette and rustled her hair. The goblin felt annoyed. This had been her chance at an adventure and, just like Molten Core, it was turning out to be a waste.

Just as she was about to ask if they should head back to the Offensive, Veena and Howl both let out sharp gasps. Their warnings came too late, though, and Roberts sucked in a sharp breath as shadows seethed beneath his feet and flung him into a nearby tree. The wretched had gotten back up, its head cocked sharply at an awkward angle as a grotesque grin spread across its lips.

Howl sucked in a sharp breath. "The damned thing's plagued."

The fight was a miserable one. Howl quickly realized that the creature before them had to have been using those damnable mastery crystals, for it easily switched between mage and priest abilities. Veena was horrified that it could still call on the Light, even in death. Every time they killed it, the plague forced the creature back to its feet. The Horde trio was growing weary, and Veena was running out of magic. While Wrachette attempted to use what few fire spells she had to disintegrate the creature, it had retained some of its intelligence and kept her mana tapped and silenced. Veena was further horrified to see that it kept attacking, even after Roberts beheaded it. Even without a mouth, the corpse kept casting.

It was then, just when they thought they might be, humiliatingly enough, downed by a single damned zombie, that a holy seal slammed into the creature's body. Even as it again rose to its feet, flames erupted around it and burned away what was left of the corpse. The thing still came at them until finally, it had burned away completely.

Even as Wrachette considered cheering, Roberts faded into stealth, and Howl gripped his axe. Though the orc looked exhausted, he also looked ready to fight until he too was burned away to nothing.

Wrachette turned her attention to their saviors to see a human paladin and mage had come up and were talking to Veena. The mage looked furious as he pointed accusingly toward Howl and Wrachette. "Do you want to be hung? What is wrong with you?"

Veena kicked one of her hooves into the ground lightly as she shrugged and mumbled, "You said I am not helpful. I thought I would show you wrong."

"Are you..." The mage trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair. "They are our _enemies_. We don't help them." He shook his head. "Do you understand the concepts of war...and treason?"

"Carrol, enough," the paladin interrupted, noticing that Veena looked ready to cry.

Even as the mage pointedly crossed his arms, he noticed Wrachette watching him with wide eyes and spit on the ground, nearly hitting her shoe.

Anger overtaking her, Wrachette pointed her axe at him accusingly. "Ya best never make it ta Booty Bay, friend!" she said 'friend' facetiously, "Because _you_ are blacklisted! Ya hear me?! And I'll make sure ya never get ta stay at Rachet, Gadgetzan, Everlook—if it's a goblin outpost, ya can forget about lookin' for help!"

Even as the mage seemed surprised by her outburst, the paladin merely stepped past him and made a swift bow. "My apologies, miss. Carrol was just concerned over our friend's health. He..." the paladin turned a stern gaze toward the mage, "is not good at dealing with his worries." He nodded respectfully toward Howl. "I promise you, the Alliance—at least the members of my guild—will not start any skirmishes here in Quel'Danas."

The Horde trio stared at him for a moment before a rather basic realization dawned on them. Howl pointed at Veena slowly and spoke in common. "You...not Shattered Sun?"

As Carrol offered a snide remark about orcs being ignorant creatures—to which Howl very much wished he knew how to say, 'I speak five languages fluently and can write well in more, how many have you mastered?'—Veena's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. Quickly she shook her head, looking almost panicked. "No. No, no. I am _so_ sorry. Did I mislead?" She looked worriedly at her human companions and then back at her group mates. "I am Alliance." She hesitated again as an awkward, tense silence threatened to settle over them. "But...this is no problem, yes? Alliance and Horde can work together on Quel'Danas."

Carrol shrugged. "How did we work together? You healed and we killed."

Even as Veena glared at her friend, Roberts faded back into sight beside the paladin, and the mage let loose a string of expletives. The forsaken looked over the paladin for a moment before bowing to him quickly. When he spoke, all three Alliance were taken aback by his clear common. "You are the leader of Reverent, are you not?"

The paladin gathered himself quickly as Veena wondered if she should have tried to make conversation with the Horde members. Clearly at least two of them could have spoken to her freely...and she knew the orc had broken common, as well. "I am Sir Jonathan Caudry, leader of Reverent, as you say."

Wrachette's ears perked up, despite herself. She knew of Reverent, though she had to say she only vaguely remembered the paladin of the three members in front of her. Years before the opening of the Dark Portal, Impervious had shown up to defeat the elementals in the Molten Core at the same time as an Alliance guild, and it had been a tense standoff as both guilds sought to bring glory for their factions. However, just as it had almost broken out into a total blood bath, Gregor had managed to pull the Alliance's guild leader to the side—it had been a warrior at the time—and beseeched him that it made little sense to kill one another, since that would leave the Firelord unchecked. As a result, after a rather tense debate, the guilds had agreed to divide and conquer the greater enemies of the civilized world. Though it could be considered treason on all of their parts for working with members of the opposing faction, it had worked out well enough throughout the years...until the Alliance guild had taken heavy losses at the opening of the Dark Portal.

As Wrachette considered that Reverent must have recruited others and was finally back in the game, Roberts nodded slowly to Sir Caudry, mildly thankful that he wasn't wearing his deathstalker uniform. He doubted the paladin would have humored him with a conversation otherwise. "We are members of Impervious," as Roberts spoke, Carrol frowned, apparently having heard of them in passing before, "and while you caught us on a bad day, it was our understanding that we were the ones to be handling the situation here."

Carrol made a comment about how well they were doing, and Veena jabbed him in the side with her elbow. Sir Caudry eyed the rogue. "Your guild leader is nearby?"

The yellow light in Roberts' eyes flickered. "Of course." He pulled out his guild stone and drew a few quick symbols into it. For the first time, Carrol looked interested in what he was doing. "Gregor will meet us back at the harbor, if you would like to discuss matters with him."

~"~

Gregor sat at one of the tables in the inn, his helm in place, watching idly as Tizzle argued with the innkeeper. It seemed like the goblin had been at it for hours, and he had to say he was impressed at how steadfast the draenei was in her price. He'd never seen anyone last this long against Tizzle before.

He always kept his face hidden from view when he went into neutral territories. A friend had managed to help his family escape Lordaeron before the plague hit, and if he could still sleep, he was certain that his slumber would be filled with nightmares of his family seeing him as the monster he'd become. His daughter had been begging to be trained as a mage, and it was his fear that one day he'd pass her on the road, and she'd run screaming from him, or even strike him down...not that he would blame her, if she ever did.

Gregor wanted his family to remember him as he had been. The guild leader of Reverent had been one of his closest friends in life, hence the odd agreement between their guilds. While Gregor didn't like that his friend, Mathew Cunningham, had learned of his fate, the human had promised to never divulge the truth to his family, and Gregor took the rare occasion when their paths crossed to ask how his wife and children were. Mathew never offered more than a quick, "They're fine," but that was enough for Gregor.

One of the Offensive guards stepped up to his table and offered him a drink. Gregor frowned to himself, wondering if the elf was trying to get him to remove his helm, as the man nodded to him. "For your help with that portal. Without demonic reinforcements, perhaps we can retake the island now."

Gregor thanked the elf for the drink and the Light that the elf couldn't see his frown beneath his helm when the sin'dorei pulled out a chair and joined him. The elf glanced toward Tizzle as the goblin's voice raised slightly. "It's odd to see a goblin outside of their cartel's lands."

"The Sprogworks twins come to where the money is, from time to time," Gregor offered with a shrug before adding, "if you're ever in Booty Bay, you should stop by their tavern. Best ale in Azeroth."

The elf chuckled and shook his head. "Must be friends to promote him in the front lines, hmm?" When Gregor merely shrugged, the elf cocked his head. "I was wondering...hoping, really, that you might indulge a question of mine."

Gregor eyed the elf and drummed his fingers against the table slowly. "Depends on the question."

"Forsaken are generally such...bitter creatures," the elf paused as though to make sure Gregor didn't take offense to his wording. When he couldn't see the corpse's expression or read his body language, he continued anyway. "Yet you don't seem to suffer that anger and resentment. By the Light, I can almost forget you're dead."

"I can't," Gregor replied, tone even. The elf offered a hasty apology for his comments, though Gregor merely shrugged. "And I am hardly different from the others...I just don't think that I am somehow above the law because life hasn't played out the way I would have liked it to." He paused and tapped his mug. "Thank you for the drink."

The elf took his cue to leave just as Roberts walked up with the others in tow. The deathstalker watched the elf scurry off, slightly disgruntled to have been sent away. Roberts dropped down into the elf's chair and motioned to the Alliance members as they stood awkwardly near the table. "These gentlemen—and lady—would like a word with you."

Wrachette eyed them, decided they weren't going to take a seat, and shoved past the mage to claim one for herself, grinning as he jeered something about she should watch where she was going.

Gregor eyed the Alliance members, paused to arch an eyebrow as Howl offered Veena the last chair at the table, and the mage rolled his eyes in disgust. He looked back at the paladin. "I was told to expect Reverent's guild leader."

"Such is my title." Sir Caudry bowed and offered a few hasty introductions.

Gregor paused to watch Wrachette slide his drink over to herself and then start sipping it, making faces beneath her mail cowl as the taste disagreed with her. "Mathew Cunningham is no longer your leader?"

"Not for about a year," the mage scoffed. "He was a dick anyway—"

"He stepped down," Sir Caudry interrupted and then paused, glanced around, and pulled up a chair near Gregor. "I was under the impression, from what Cunningham told me, that we…worked together to defeat enemies."

Mathew had stepped down? Gregor allowed himself a hollow laugh, which took all of them by surprise. "I see. You're upset because we've grabbed most of the glory from Outland?"

"We believe in pulling our weight. This world is ours to defend, as well as yours."

"I would appreciate," Gregor's voice was flat, "if you would get to the point of this conversation. Do you want us to withdraw from the island?"

"No." Sir Caudry frowned. "I thought, perhaps you would need assistance?"

"We will be fine."

Sir Caudry seemed as though he wanted to continue to attempt to offer aid, though he gave up as Gregor's helm turned away from him, dismissing his presence all together. With a heavy sigh, the paladin rose to his feet. "Carrol, a portal to Stormwind, if you will."

As the portal disappeared, Gregor frowned. "You could have told me it wasn't Mathew."

Roberts shrugged. "It's not like you could have caught up out here, anyway." As the old warrior seemed even more irritated than before, Roberts added, "Besides, he wanted to speak with a guild leader, and unless I'm mistaken, you still claim that role."

While he wanted to reach out and smack Roberts upside the head, Gregor instead rose to his feet and headed back toward the courtyard. "We need to win back this island before they decide they're giving us help, regardless of whether we want it or not."

Wrachette stared after him, surprised. With a low whistle, she shook her head. "I didn't know Gregor could get angry." She paused. "Well, at anyone other than Haa'aji and Mitchell, anyway."

Roberts had already risen back to his feet as well. "Gregor's always touchy when it comes to the living."

~"~

Ta'lim patted his phoenix as the eight of them stood in the early light of the new morning. It was a little thing, and barely a consolation for losing his raptor, but it had been drawn to him, perhaps sensing a broken heart. Or maybe it was just that it liked to chew on his hair.

Whatever the reason, the little bird sat curled up on top of his head, the delicate flames of its wings flickering ineffectively against the troll's head, barely casting a warm flicker across Ta'lim's skin.

They hadn't found Kael'thas in the Magister's Terrace, but rather his phoenix, Al'ar. While it had been something they had managed to avoid in the Keep, despite Haa'aji's pleas for a chance to get himself a new mount, after defeating it here, they had to wonder why they had thought it would be such a difficult creature to down. Sure, it had resurrected itself almost thirteen times, but that was just what phoenixes did, right?

According to the dragon, Kalecgos—who had fortunately been a patient creature—Kael'thas was off tampering with the Sunwell a few buildings over.

While they would have normally been pleased to have eliminated an enemy, the dragon's warning had put a damper on things. Kael'thas was no longer their main concern. Now Kil'jaeden was.


	14. Blood and Honor

Mitchell shivered. He had seen all of this before. The room they were in, the stairway leading beyond it into the innermost chambers of the Sunwell Plateau. They would find Kael'thas, in the middle of a summoning ritual. Enlyhn and Timmons would make cracks about a mage trying to be a warlock. They would attack him, kill him, but it wouldn't be enough. The damnable elf would use his blood—his and Sham's, though hers had been a mere bonus—to summon Kil'jaeden. The demon would demolish them, killing Gore easily as he was overcome with grief and rage.

The guild would fall.

He didn't realize he was yelling for them to stop until twenty-three pairs of eyes were on him. He floundered as he realized he wasn't sure how to explain what he'd seen. It wasn't as though it had been easy to get this far. The biggest pain had been the corrupted naaru which had stood in their path. M'uru had been a bitch to down, but after that, things had gone well enough. Even the remaining four elves who utilized the mastery crystals had been nothing compared to that hellish naaru. But this....

Margaret put a hand on Mitchell's shoulder, only to withdraw it as he jumped at her touch. She cocked her head. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Something goes wrong. Something goes really, really wrong."

~"~

As Mitchell tried desperately to explain himself, a man in gold and white robes stared down at them from the rafters which arched high overhead. He looked human enough, save for the bronze glow of his eyes and the way a strange ticking started every time he fidgeted—not that he did such frequently. Rather, his gnomish companion was far more animated than he was.  The little woman, in the same robes as the man, let out a soft chuckle.

"Interesting that a mortal would remember our reset. It shows that we've chosen well."

The man frowned and leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand as he rested his elbow on a knee. As he moved, the space around him rippled and flickered, as though it weren't sure that he ought to be there. "I half think that was a waste of magic."

"Allowing Kil'jaeden to live is not a path this time is to go in, you know that."

"You just want them to be your heroes," he muttered, still watching the raiders below. Mitchell was drawing a detailed picture of the room ahead, hell-bent on proving he wasn't crazy and that they need to listen to him.

The little gnome laughed and motioned toward the raid group below. "Can you blame me? They're practically doing our job for us. Already time is moving in a different path. We may not even need to step in during their fight, to tip the scales."

The man merely scowled.

"Why are you so against this lot?" the gnome asked, plopping down beside him and swinging her legs back and forth as she watched Haa'aji stealth out in front of the others and come back to tell them that Mitchell was right. The air hummed like the droning of a pendulum as she moved. She clucked when her partner was not forthcoming with an explanation. "You just don't like the Horde."

"I have no qualm with the Horde. I don't like that so many of these fools are quick to abuse any type of power given to them. With what you're thinking of asking of the lifebinder...you'd be creating monsters."

"Ah, but they're loyal to their leaders. Unless something truly unforeseeable happens, they won't betray us. Again, you know this."

"The infinite flight knows it as well," he muttered. "And I'm sure they'll be quick to poison their minds."

"The lifebinder is not a fool," the gnome countered. "She'll place proper restrictions on them, I'm sure."

Rising to his feet, the man brushed a few wrinkles from his robes. His companion watched him for a moment before he realized that he hadn't spoken about leaving yet. Being in so many timelines at once could do that to a person...make them forget whether they'd had their conversation yet or even whether they'd argued or agreed with a matter, based on what might or might not have happened yet.

"I doubt both of us will be needed to watch over them...as you said, time is already moving in a different direction."

The gnome shrugged and looked back down at their charges. "Do as you want. I'll call for you if I need help."

~"~

Sham frowned. Mitchell had gone over what he'd seen about to happen nearly twenty times, but for the life of them, they couldn't see how anything could truly go any differently. If Kael'thas was really summoning Kil'jaeden right now, he wouldn't be quick to chase after them if they tried to draw him away from the Sunwell. Rather, he would probably ignore any attempts at his attention and keep at his task. And there was apparently some sort of shield around him, to protect him from something so simple as an arrow through the throat.

And then there was the whole accidentally helping him thing by unwittingly sacrificing themselves. Sure, perhaps Sham might not be the one to die per se, but there was a damn good chance someone would.

It was the explosion that forced them into action.

Ditching their strategies and concerns, they ran toward the next room in time to see magic pouring out of the Sunwell and Kael'thas lying crumpled against a wall, holding his side. He stared up with a mix of awe and pride. As he heard the guild coming, he glanced toward them, his eyes barely glowing any longer, and allowed himself a fleeting smile when he saw Wren and Sethyl.

"My people...we...will regain our glory now. Kil'jaeden will...lead...lead you into an age...like you've never...seen...."

Even as the prince slouched forward, dead, Sethyl got the worst sensation that he was being watched. He and several others turned slowly and felt like mice caught in a trap as they stared at Kil'jaeden. The demon was leaning over the edge of the Sunwell so that his face was close to the ground, his breath easily ruffling the paladin's hair.

In a quick motion, the demon reared back and swiped at them. Even as Mitchell called out what little he remembered the demon doing in ways of attacks before he had succumbed to death himself in his mysterious vision, the whole of them spread out and readied to kill Kil'jaeden.

~"~

Lucas Johnson, better known to the world as Lisp thanks to Haa'aji, strolled into his guild hall and frowned when he saw that it was empty. Without breaking his saunter, he walked over to one of the walls covered with notices regarding Alliance standings and movement, and peered over the foremost papers. Five guild mates were gone to eliminate the human presence in South Shore, once and for all. Thirteen had teamed up with another guild in an attempt to storm Darnasus—he suspected they'd be recruiting again soon for that one; there was a reason the night elves had lived so long—and eight had gone on a scouting expedition of Stormwind. Another twenty had headed out to Alterac Valley.

Lisp frowned. Hadn't they claimed that area almost a month ago? The Alliance must have come back with force.

Sometimes he missed his raiding days. At least when he and Impervious had killed Ragnaros, the creature had stayed dead. The warfronts were always shifting; no victory was ever absolute.

It could be a bit depressing.

Renza'shi Venomsplint and Murk Darkwrath came in a few minutes after the rogue, still laughing and joking about the time they'd had hunting their enemies in Winterspring. They were equally surprised to see that their guild hall was empty and looked around. Renza'shi dismissed the absence of their guild, hopped into a chair nearest the door, and lay his weapon across the rounded table.

More than a dozen of such tables speckled the room, with a makeshift stage/podium to one side, where Taknar generally stood to give his speeches. Most of them were either honoring someone who'd done particularly well in battle, or shaming someone who had fled. Granted, the someone in question for the latter was generally already face down in an unmarked grave while he condemned their actions, as very few took such a dishonorable action lightly.

Murk walked to the back of the room and pinned an Alliance banner up onto the wall. They'd eliminated nearly a dozen of their elven enemies on their latest run, including several particularly angry ones on their way back through Felwood. Lisp counted them lucky; they'd been outnumbered, and if Murk weren't as skilled a healer as he was, they might not have made it out of that little adventure.

He and the orc headed back over to Renza'shi and collapsed into chairs of their own, content to sit in a calming silence. Even with their guild out on missions, there were other war guilds they could hit up, if they wanted to charge back into conflict.

For the day, they were happy to relax. After all, if they spent every waking moment in combat, they would become careless.

They'd barely seated themselves around the table and settled into a comfortable silence when they heard hefty boots thudding into the hall. While all three of their minds immediately went to Taknar, as he was the largest, non-hooved, shoe-wearing member of the guild, they were surprised to see Garrosh Hellscream standing in their doorway when they looked up.

He seemed a bit taken back by the emptiness of the hall, though he nodded, somewhat satisfied, to himself that they were all no doubt fighting the good fight for the Horde and then focused his beady eyes on the three in front of him. Even as they offered hesitant greetings—none of them were completely sure what level of honor to give the mag'har orc, as rumors were spreading like wildfire that he would be an overlord in a movement into Northrend, though he hadn't officially taken such a title yet—he merely frowned and invited himself further into the hall, though he stopped in his tracks when Renza'shi motioned for him to take a chair. The orc's eyes swept the hall again, as though looking for some hidden room or trick wall.

"Your leader is not present?"

Lisp had risen to his feet, and he made a sweeping bow. "I am afraid he is away for the time being." The forsaken motioned to himself and the others. "We've only just returned ourselves, or we would most likely be with him."

Garrosh eyed the rogue for a moment before rolling one of his shoulders and looking down at him, as though he thought the creature's metallic voice was meant to hide some truth from him. "Of course."

Renza'shi frowned and readied to defend his guild mate, though a sharp look from Murk stopped him. The orc rose to his feet as well and saluted Garrosh quickly. "If there is anything that requires fighters, we can round up a group for whatever the cause."

"That won't be necessary just yet," Garrosh murmured. He inspected the shaman giving him a simple nod. "Have Taknar come to me as soon as he returns. I would like to discuss something important with him."

"Ya be needin' fa us ta send word fa him ta return as soon as he can a dis be a matta dat can wait...?" Renza'shi barely masked the suspicion and curiosity in his voice. Was the Alliance planning an attack on Orgrimmar?

The troll paused as he felt the mag'har's glare upon him. "While it may be important that I speak with him, the Horde will not topple overnight should I not see him immediately. Whenever he returns is fine."

With that, Garrosh bid them well, though he barely looked in Lisp's direction again, and walked away as quickly as he had come. As Lisp and Murk slipped back into their seats, Renza'shi drummed his fingers against the table. "Wat dat been 'bout, Ah wonda."

Murk simply shook his head. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

His troll friend eyed him. "Ya realleh content ta jus' sit hea, not knowin' wat he be up ta?"

"Perhaps he's just trying to see if he can get a full guild to come with him to Northrend?" Lisp offered, though he clearly wasn't entertained by the notion. While that metal jaw of his made it hard as hell to read his expressions, his shoulders were more slouched than usual, and he seemed unnerved by the way Garrosh had been so quick to look down upon him.

Renza'shi eyed first Murk and then Lisp and then slowly stilled his hand, though he said nothing. As the other two sunk into their own thoughts, he ran his fingers through his hair and then looked around the room, as though he might find a note regarding Garrosh's actions scribbled on one of the walls. When his guild hall proved to be the same room it had always been, he hopped to his feet, shouldered his weapon, and sauntered over to the notice board.

He tried to focus on the little words printed across the papers—half of them had at least one corner caked in dried blood—but it was to no avail. His mind kept wandering.... He glanced over his shoulder and frowned as he looked down to see Murk standing beside him. Lisp still sat back at the table, though he was clearly interested in whatever was going on in Renza'shi's head as well.

The troll slid a step away from the orc, who in turn raised an eyebrow. Renza'shi looked about, and abruptly brightened. "Ah bet Ah know who be havin' an idea 'bout dis mess, yeh?"

Lisp just rolled his eyes. "Leave it be. I doubt the warchief wants us snooping around in Garrosh's business."

Renza'shi shrugged, a grin settling on his features. "If dey know sumtin, dey alreadeh finished wit' dea snoopin', yeh?" He nodded to Murk. "Wan ta go see who be at Whispa's Vials?"

The orc rolled his eyes and turned his attention toward the board. "I'll pass. If it's something we need to know, we'll hear about it from Taknar soon enough."

"Wateva, mon," Renza'shi offered them an offhanded wave as he headed out.

Murk sighed as he watched the warrior's figure disappear out the door and then walked back to Lisp. The forsaken stared at the door to their hall, looking as though he wished to follow suit, but didn't want to succumb to such whims. They tried to resume their earlier carefree rest, though Renza'shi had struck their curiosity—despite their attempts to ignore it—and it wouldn't leave either of them alone. If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Haa'aji and while he probably wouldn't tell them, if Liila or Timmons were around, they might.

Less than ten minutes after the troll had left, they were both too agitated to enjoy their well earned break. With a sigh, Lisp hopped lithely to his feet. "Let's follow him."

~"~

Liila had not been the 'friends' Haa'aji had been referring to in regards to dealing with their void reaver. She had waited almost two full days for the shady individuals in question to take the giant and all of its spare parts into their care before hitting the warlock coven in Orgrimmar up for a summons.

While most everyone had to deal with the backlash of making bargains with warlocks of any kind, Liila always managed to get out of it. Namely because she walked away before they could try to ask her for anything and then blatantly ignored knowing them if they came to her later. One would think this would make the warlocks loathe her and more than willing to leave her stranded. However, it had the opposite effect. Anyone who had the balls to ignore the fact that they could tear their soul apart on a whim deserved a bit of respect, if not pity for their foolhardiness.

Liila had trotted away from the summoning circle without so much as a thank you, and the warlocks hadn't expected one, instead almost immediately resuming whatever dark secrets they'd been toying with earlier.

With everyone else gone and little else to do, she'd sent Haa'aji a best luck wish on his raid and opened up Whisper's Vials. 

Liila had always thought she would feel him before she would see him. The man who had ruined her: Derik Bloodsworn. The man who had beaten away every memory of whatever life she'd had before the Scourge had gotten a hold of her—be it miserable or happy. The man who had spent months carving his curse into her flesh and healing it over, so that she couldn't tamper with the runes, as she'd tried to in the beginning.

She still had scars on her shoulder of the outline of the first rune he'd attempted to brand her with; she'd managed to find a sharp object while he was off tormenting other creatures and had dragged it through the cuts to negate their magic. Unfortunately, he had returned before she could put herself out of her misery and had been less than pleased with her handiwork. She had spent the next few months paying for her insolence.

After all that he had done to her, it would seem like his mere presence would have been engraved into her memory.

She hadn't even felt the temperature of the air drop.

She'd opened shop and gone about making a few adjustments—checking the usual potions to make sure they were labeled correctly and that no one had switched them around, and fixing the few that Sham hadn't been able to figure out after Timmons' latest meddling.

As she'd moved a potion that made one's skin temporarily fall off and left them as a skeleton—it was a popular potion and highly addicting, especially considering how painful it was to have one's skin grow back and reestablish nerve endings—she turned and came face to face with him.

His nose was broken from where Shadow had nailed him in the face, a little over four years ago. Other than that, he looked just as she remembered him, just as she saw him every time she closed her eyes. Lips blackened from rot, and hair matted with the blood of his victims. How had he gotten this far into Orgrimmar? He had been a human in life, and he did not have the stoop of a forsaken.

He seemed to catch her thoughts—she often suspected he had some way of seeing into her head, namely because of how well he'd always been able to crush any hopes she might lay claim to—and his lips spread into a slow, wicked grin.

Catching her by her hair, he whirled about and slammed her into the counter, shattering part of the display glass and sending herbs scattering across the floor. Liila took in a sharp breath as some of the glass embedded itself in her side, but didn't scream. She knew better than that. It was what he wanted.

Liila tried to scramble to her feet and go on the offensive, but the curse that flickered, ever just beneath her skin, gleamed to life and paralyzed her, following its master's will.

Over the years, bits and pieces had been dismantled by various groups—the furbolg, the druids of Moonglade and Silithus, the goblin mages of Everlook, shamans from Thunderbluff and Orgrimmar, even a warlock coven or two had offered insight into what parts of the curse might do what—but even diminished as it was, it was still enough to blur her senses and leave her helpless as she grappled with overcoming the overwhelming pain. Blood pooled on the floor near her head as she bit her tongue, willing herself not to scream.

The death knight stood over her, looking almost bored. "Heal yourself."

When she refused to comply, he made a motion with his hand, one she recognized well. He was calling on specific parts of the curse to answer his will. She couldn't help a pained smile as nothing happened. Bloodsworn frowned. Before he could fully register that his handiwork had been tampered with, Liila jerked shakily to her feet and called the shadows of the shop to her enemy, binding his feet as she tumbled out the door into the open air. If she was going to fight that bastard, it would be where others could see to help her.

Even as she spotted Piikiitwo a few buildings down, snapping playfully at a banner that was just out of its reach, she felt a plated hand grip her arm and jerk her body backwards and her shoulder out of its socket. She let out a low hiss as Bloodsworn jerked up her sleeve, apparently too appalled by her lack of obedience to worry about the possibility of being seen.

Like her back, blackened scars in the shapes of death runes ran across her skin almost from wrist to shoulder, with a harsh white scar running along the centers, interrupting the damnable brands.

"You really aren't an elf anymore, are you?" Bloodsworn sneered, jerking her arm awkwardly behind her as though to assure himself her shoulder wouldn't accidentally slide back into place. "To let someone scar you so badly...."

She could hear the calculating tone in his voice. He knew that some of his curse was still intact, though he wasn't sure how much of it. His grin slowly returned as he shoved her into a wall. He pressed harder, and she could feel her bones beginning to crack. As she instinctively gasped for air, he leaned to whisper into her ear, "Can I still kill you as many—"

Bloodsworn let out a cry as he was abruptly tackled from the side by Piikiitwo. The raptor clawed ineffectually at his plate, only to let out a wail as the death knight brought his sword up and into the creature's side.

Liila threw a healing spell onto her mount, though she watched as the light flickered unstably, not wanting to follow her will. She frowned and did her best to put a few feet between herself and her tormentor as she tried to remember all the unfortunate side effects of her curse.

The light wouldn't easily recognize her call so long as the death runes remained active. How could she have forgotten that? It was the reason she'd first turned to the darkness to begin with.

Piikiitwo seemed to pick up on her distress and paced back and forth frantically on Bloodsworn's other side, as though unsure if it ought to go to its master, or just attack their enemy.

Even as it tried to rush past the death knight toward Liila, only to jump back again as Bloodsworn tried to cleave it in two, a sharp cry came from down the street. Bloodsworn looked up and cursed under his breath, finally realizing how open he'd left himself. As his gaze swept the area for something to use to his advantage—seeing as his pet was so rebellious—a blurred figure rammed into him, sword first.

Bloodsworn slammed into outer wall of Whisper's Vials and spat blackened blood into the dirt. Renza'shi attacked again, not giving the death knight time to assess his situation, though he had to jerk back quickly as the death knight cast black runes upon the ground.

Renza'shi gave Liila a wary look as the earth itself seemed to rot beneath the magic of the Bloodsworn's attack. She didn't say a word or even acknowledge his presence, her eyes ever on their adversary. The look in them made him shiver. Such hatred.

While Liila could be mischievous and even a little mean from time to time, she had a good heart, if not a sad one. She was used to pain and used to disappointment, but despite it all, she was trusting. He had never seen someone work so adamantly to assist others, even if it was in exchange for assistance herself.

But he'd never seen her hate anything. Never even a passing reference had elicited such a dark response from her. For a moment he was lost, though the way her sleeve was caught upon itself, slightly folded upward to reveal the lowest of her scars... It was common knowledge that Liila was cursed.

Renza'shi barely managed to dodge the death knight as he launched an attack at him.

This man had to be the one who had damned her.

Renza'shi brought his sword up and swung. Bloodsworn stopped his advance, though not quite soon enough, as the blade sliced across his throat. The knight collapsed to the ground, his black blood spilling and tainting the barren soil as Renza'shi hurried over to Liila.

Even as he came up to her, Liila stumbled to him and pushed him back. Renza'shi sucked in a sharp breath as he saw Bloodsworn's sword plunge through the little elf's torso. A gurgling cackle escaped the death knight, though it was somewhat distorted by slit across his vocal cords.

It seemed that all Renza'shi's attack had accomplished was to silence the man.

Fucking undead.

The world seemed to move in slow motion. Bloodsworn jerked his weapon out of Liila, blood splattered to the ground mere seconds in advance of the elven woman's corpse. Piikiitwo screeched in anger and lunged at the knight. Bloodsworn whirled around and caught the creature in the air, slicing its head from its neck.

Renza'shi blinked and parried the death knight's blade as Bloodsworn turned his attention toward the last of his adversaries. The ground beneath his feet erupted into rot, and Renza'shi cried out as disease slithered over his skin and slowed his movements. Just as he was parrying another blow and trying to dodge backward and off of the festering ground, a dark flicker caught his attention, and he couldn't help but look to his side to where Liila lay.

Dark runes flickered across her body and pulsed in unison, and she took in a ragged gasp, her face instantly contorting in pain as the injury that had killed her remained. Bloodsworn's blade slammed into Renza'shi's shoulder as he watched his elven friend writhe in pain, trapped in her broken body.

The troll fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder and trying to stem the blood flow. Bloodsworn raised his sword to finish him.

The death knight sucked in a gasp as a dagger slammed into the side of his neck, and a chain heal hit both of his would be victims. Lisp narrowly avoided when the knight attempted to swing his sword around and nail him. In that instant, Renza'shi darted up, slicing his weapon into the death knight's leg, hoping to dismember the bastard.

Even as Bloodsworn attempted to fight back, the shadows cast by his armor began to glimmer and slither across his body, pinpointing his existing injuries and digging into them. Murk had run up to the fray, and as he threw a few more heals toward his guild mates, he looked to see if Liila was alright. She still sat, crouched to the ground, the blue of her eyes shifted to black as shadows flickered over her skin, and he left her be, not wanting to interrupt her spell casting.

While Murk diligently worked to keep the others alive, he couldn't help but wonder where in the twisting nether the guards were. Someone should have patrolled past them by now. He looked around to where the grunts were normally posted and found their places empty. They'd been there earlier, when he and the others had returned from Winterspring.

What in the worlds was going on?

Bloodsworn seemed to understand that he was going to be beaten. With a hiss, he slammed his sword into the ground. The air itself seemed to fill with disease, sending his attackers flying backwards and interrupting Murk and Liila's efforts. Even as the four struggled to bounce back, they found a fading death gate where Bloodsworn had been standing.

As Murk cursed and yelled to his guild mates, asking what in the nether had just happened, Liila stared at the space where her tormentor had been, expression blank. Lisp caught sight of her and began to walk toward her, though he paused as he watched her slowly realize that the bastard had really gotten away. Her face twisted into a look of pure rage, and she let out a scream, shadows pooling where the knight had been and spiking up into the air, as though they might be able to call back their target and bring him to justice.

The other two jumped and looked her way to see that she was still seething. However, before she could slip into the shadows and try to make it through the death gate to follow after Bloodsworn to finish him once and for all—not that she knew if she even could by herself—two pale blue arms wrapped around her shoulders.

"It be okay, mon."

Liila was taken back to when she and Haa'aji had first met, and she stilled, her breathing slowly coming back under her control. She looked up, half surprised that her rogue was absent and instead Renza'shi knelt beside her. The pains of her curse were fading, and she felt her senses returning to her. Of course she couldn't follow Bloodsworn now, the paths were gone. And even if they weren't, she had no idea what she'd be walking into.

She heaved a ragged breath and forced herself to her feet, though Lisp and Renza'shi both caught her shoulders and spoke at once, suggesting she go inside the shop and lie down. Liila ignored them as her gaze swept over the road and stopped on Piikiitwo's corpse. Her lip quivered as though she might cry, though she merely walked past the others and knelt next to her faithful mount, reaching out and resting her hand on it.

Finally, she found her voice. "How did this happen?" When no one responded, she turned an angry glare toward them. She'd abandoned her monotone. "How the hell did he get so far into Orgrimmar?"

Murk shook his head, starting toward the gates. "I'm wondering the same thing. Come on."

Though she looked mournfully back at her raptor, Liila rose to her feet and followed the others.

As they drew closer to the Valley of Strength, they could hear the sounds of fighting, and they picked up their paces. Ghouls were everywhere. Civilians cowered behind vendors' overturned wagons, and it looked like every grunt and adventurer in Orgrimmar was caught up in trying to repel the undead. A few skeletal casters sent frost bolts into the fray, freezing enemy and ally alike.

Even as the three from Blood and Honor charged into the fight, forgetting their fatigue to defend their home, Liila sent a quick message to the rest of Impervious before letting shadows consume her and following suit.

_Orgrimmar is under attack._


	15. Lost

Murk handed Renza'shi an ale as he took a seat with him and Liila. Lisp followed behind, offering Liila a water as he took the last chair at the half broken table. While it had been a hellish fight, they'd managed to slay the ghouls and reclaim their home. The victory felt somewhat hollow, however, as so many had fallen and so much had been damaged. The four of them had spent the last hour after the fighting had ceased righting toppled wagons and carrying the dead to piles to be incinerated, so as to assure they wouldn't get up and start walking again. One or two forsaken had been left to the side, to give them time to see if they were actually dead, or merely unconscious.

The various adventurers and guards who were pitching in with the clean up fighters were cycling through breaks, and Liila had received word that Impervious would be back in Orgrimmar shortly. Apparently she'd contacted them in the middle of their fight.

As she sipped her water and mulled over the repairs that would be needed to Whisper's Vials, Renza'shi tapped the table in front of her. When she looked up at him, he had a firm frown in place.

"Ya died. Earlia, when we was fightin' dat death knight."

Liila swished the water around in her glass. "Yes, I did." Her voice droned with only the slightest of inflection—this was her usual 'expressive' tone, though it wasn't much different from her monotone—as she'd lost her bet when Bloodsworn had escaped. Instead, she just sounded tired, like this was a line of questioning that she'd had to go over far too many times.

"How dat be possible?" Renza'shi whispered, slightly awed. If she could teach others how she could come back to life like that...the Horde would never have to lose another battle again.

"It's part of the curse," Liila practically spat the words.

"It seems kind of useful," Murk offered, swallowing half his ale in a single gulp, though he nearly choked on it when he saw the dark look the little elf gave him.

"Say that again when you're tied to a table with someone leaning against your esophagus just because you didn't scream loud enough when they cut you." Liila didn't wait for any of them to answer as she ran her fingers through her messy hair. Her sleeve had been torn during the fighting and they could all see pieces of the death rune scars running up her arm. "Or if you're bound and tied to something heavy and cast into a lake. Sure, you can get out of it eventually. Each time you drown will hurt just as much as the time before, though...and depending on how good the shackles are, it could take a damned eternity to get free. Do you really think it's useful to die fifty times just to get out of a bind?" Her anger wavered as she realized it wasn't them that she held her grudge against. She gave Murk an unreadable glance before looking back at her cup. "If you hadn't come along and healed me, who knows how many times I would have died from that stab wound."

Murk frowned and offered an offhanded apology. Though he was still interested in the potential of her 'ailment', he figured he would have to let her anger boil down before he tried to bring up the subject again.

While the other three brooded, Lisp cocked his head, watching Liila. "So…how many times does that bring you to? That you remember?"

"Forty-three," she murmured, abruptly gulping down her water. As she rose to her feet, she gave them a forced whisper of a smile. "Forgive me gentlemen, but dying always puts me in a foul mood."

Lisp rose to his feet as well. "So...is that bet still going? For what your fiftieth death will be?"

Even as both Murk and Renza'shi tried to ask why anyone would make a bet like that, Liila gave Lisp a half smile. "It is." She paused to glance at the other two, her dark mood already beginning to dissipate. "My friends are all assholes, in case you couldn't tell."

"Liila!'

A rasping voice interrupted their conversation, and Margaret ran through the fractured doorway to the inn and flung her arms around Liila. Even as the small elf patted her friend's shoulder, Margaret pulled back to inspect her. She had a hopeful grin on her face, despite the obvious devastation. "So...he was here? And he couldn't control you anymore?" When Liila nodded, Margaret hugged her again. "Excellent! I guess you could have come with us to Quel'Danas, huh?"

As the members of Blood and Honor gave them curious looks, Margaret sighed, stroking Liila's hair as though she were either a child or a pet. "She's been avoiding the Eastern Kingdoms...well, the northern part. We...were worried that that death knight might find her and take control of her again...But! If he wasn't able to, then that's great news!" Margaret squeezed her.

"He's still out there, though," Liila murmured, defeated.

"Yeah, but we'll track him down and make him die like the dog he is," Margaret grinned. "In the meantime, no more excuses for missing raids for you." The forsaken laughed before catching sight of the smashed tables in the inn. Reminded that Orgrimmar's Valley of Strength was in shambles, she frowned. "By the way, what in the nether happened here? Was this all...his doing?"

"No...there was an army of ghouls," Liila hesitated and glanced at the others. "I'm not sure if it was just to try to weaken Orgrimmar itself or...."

Margaret's smile remained unwavering as she looped arms with Liila and started to head out into the mess. Shadow, Haa'aji and a few others were already starting to re-erect a few merchant's stalls. Even Tizzle, Wrachette, and Sprocket had come, though they were already arguing with a few orcs that they were there to offer their large green friends a chance at discount timber and maybe some scaffolding equipment, but little more. Margaret patted Liila's head as they looked out to see the devastation. "Don't let that elven ego of yours get too inflated. I doubt they'd do something this big just to come for you. You were probably just icing on the cake."

Renza'shi patted Liila's shoulder as he and his guild mates came out to rejoin the cleanup effort as well. "Yeh, mon. Dis nah be ya fault a nuttin’." However, even as the other two walked out, and Margaret left them to go yell at Mitchell and Timmons for playing shadow puppets with one of the corpses, he glanced down at Liila. "Ya know, wat wit' dyin' 'n all, if ya need ya rest, Ah don' tink nahbodeh'd mind if ya bowed out."

Liila gave him a half smile. "Thank you, but I'd rather put off the dreams I'll be having about this for a few more hours, at least."

~"~

Haa'aji sat at the small table in the back of Whisper's Vials, his feet resting upon the smooth surface and his fingers laced and hands behind his head as he watched Margaret and Liila pick up the broken glass that littered the floor. Whisper was in the process of pulling the broken shelving unit off the wall, pausing every few minutes to hiss that things might go faster if someone would help her.

The troll furrowed his hairless brow as he ignored Whisper's not so subtle requests for assistance. "Reshi saw ya die, eh?"

Liila frowned as she heard Renza'shi's nickname. The warrior hated it...and Haa'aji for that matter. With her luck, he'd come by, and Haa'aji would start something between the two of them, just to take out the rest of the potions and furniture in the shop. However, she nodded. "He wanted to know more about it. So did Murk."

Margaret rocked back on her heels as she stood up, carrying the fragments of vials over to the counter, where they had already amassed quite a pile. She dropped hers on top and then stretched her back, frowning as she looked to see there were still dozens of tiny pieces littering the floor. They'd already swept up the larger chunks of glass.

Rather than rejoining Liila on the floor, she tapped a bony finger against her lips, pondering what sort of spell would be needed to get this done faster. Whisper had already said using wind wouldn't be smart, as that could easily make a whirling tornado of flying glass particulates.

There had to be something.

"Well, I have to say, from a stranger's perspective, it'd be easy not to see all the downsides that come with it. It was probably just naive curiosity."

"It better have been," Whisper murmured, pressing her weight down on a half shattered shelf and nearly plummeting to the floor herself as it finally gave out.

"Whisper's gonna kill her a troll," Margaret laughed.

"Ah'm gonna kill meh a troll," Haa'aji muttered, ignoring as both Whisper and Margaret eyed him. They'd never really understood what he had against Renza'shi. However, before they could ask, Haa'aji pulled loose a small splinter of wood from the table he sat at, ignored as Whisper practically screamed that he was breaking her shop, and tossed it at Liila. "Ah hea he been invatin' ya ta Blood 'n Hona again."

"He did." Liila straightened up, still resting on her knees on the floor. Despite having gotten the glass shards out of her side, her shoulder reset, and being healed, her skin still ached dully and having to stoop over to pick up all the remnants of Bloodsworn's attack wasn't making things any better. "He invited all of Impervious, really."

She walked over to the pile of debris and dropped her crystalline shards onto it as well before leaning beside Margaret. Even as she sighed and looked at Haa'aji, Margaret reached over and started weaving a few sporadic braids into the elf's hair.

Haa'aji shrugged, content to remain in his corner, useless. "Ah tink Reshi jus' be angreh his guild not be as amazin' as a's."

"Then he should switch," Margaret teased, laughing as Haa'aji bristled at the thought of sharing space with the troll warrior.

"He'd never leave Blood and Honor," Whisper muttered, clearing the next shelf that had a deep split in it. While it might not be in imminent danger of falling, it would be tacky to leave something so broken in her shop.

Haa'aji laughed, bitter. "Don' mean he don' wan' a invitation, mon." He sneered at the thought as the other three looked at him. "He be one a dem dat likes knowin' he be wann'ed."

"Men," Margaret muttered, hoping Haa'aji would get the jibe included him. He didn't seem to notice as he brooded.

With a sigh, Whisper opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped herself and just shook her head. She glanced around the shop again and then stretched her arms up over her head. They'd spent almost three days with barely any sleep or rest, helping out with the clean up in the Valley of Strength and had only this afternoon gotten around to Whisper's Vials. Honestly, the only reason they were there at that point was that Gore had hoped they would be able to supply potions to fatigued workers or to those who injured themselves while rebuilding.

While they had already sent out what had been in stock with a few grunts, Whisper had wanted to get the shop back in working order and that meant fixing the shelves and getting rid of the evidence that there had ever been a fight. She inspected the blood spatter near the broken display case. That was going to be the worst to get rid of.

However, if they really wanted things to get done, they would need to pace themselves. Though Haa'aji was more than useless, Liila and Margaret had been faithfully using their thin fingers to clear the smaller debris that Whisper couldn't pick up, and she could see how worn down they were from having to concentrate so hard on their task.

"Let's call it a day, okay?" Whisper offered. When the others seemed ready to protest, she just shrugged. "This is frustrating. I think if we come back tomorrow, rested and ready, we'll get through this quicker."

~"~

Renza'shi was asleep. Murk couldn't believe it. The troll was sitting upright at the table nearest the door, his hands still on his weapon, where he'd laid it across the wood in front of him, and he was completely passed out. A small snore escaped the troll's throat, and Murk considered whacking him on the back of the head, but decided against it. They'd all had a rough few days.

Though he would have loved to flop down beside his guild mate and pass out, he merely shook his head. There was too much to do. What if the Alliance caught wind of Orgrimmar's condition and tried to attack? Sure, rumors were pouring in that the Alliance capitals as well as settlements for both factions across both continents and even a few places in Outland had also been attacked by ghouls—and that some of the attacks were still going—but who was to say that wasn't just a cover up, so that the Horde would relax their defenses and allow the Alliance to sweep in and overtake them?

Murk turned toward the door, thinking to find the flight master and ask him about any solid reports of other areas being hit—aside from the Undercity and Silvermoon, for those two cities were so used to having ghouls and undead attempting to overwhelm them that they'd barely noticed a flux. As he turned, he nearly walked right into Liila, who looked somewhat curious and lost at the same time as she peered around at Blood and Honor's guild hall.

"Throm-Ka, friend," Murk nodded to her, and she echoed the greeting. He couldn't help a faint smile. "Coming to join us?"

"No," Liila murmured. Her voice had almost settled back into a monotone, though it sounded more like a soft, sad melody as she spoke. "Actually, I came to talk to you two..." Her eyes swept over Renza'shi, and she paused as he snored again. "I suppose it could wait, though."

"Nonsense. What brings you here?"

"I..." Liila reached up toward her neck as though subconsciously trying to clasp something. Her hand fell back to her side. "I was wearing a necklace when that death knight attacked. It had a ring on it...."

Murk arched an eyebrow. "You lost it?"

With a nod, Liila shifted her weight, seeming uncomfortable with the subject. "I already checked the shop and tried to look through the valley for it, but...I thought maybe one of you found it?"

Murk gave her a sympathetic shrug. "I didn't. Lisp went with a few others who came back on short notice...they headed to Thunder Bluff to see how bad the Scourge damaged that city. When he gets back, though, I can ask him about it."

"That's alright," Liila nodded her head politely. "I already asked him."

Murk cocked his head. Lisp had a way of keeping in touch with his former guild that he'd never really explained. While he'd apparently tried to share the spell or whatever it was with Taknar, it had proved too hard for them to understand, and they'd accidentally angered Mitchell, who in turn had actively worked against them since, making sure they would never be able to use the spells that he had perfected.

While a few from Impervious had offered to try to talk him out of it or to see if they could help on their own, Taknar had been content to use the standard methods of communication. Even so, it left more than a few of them wondering what spells those of Impervious wove to speak amongst themselves so efficiently.

Murk started toward Renza'shi, thinking to wake him, but Liila lightly grabbed his arm. "Let him sleep. Just...tell him to come by the shop or my house later?"

~"~

Sethyl Sunblade stood in front of a worn elven door. It needed replacing badly, as the door still bore scars from when several ghouls had attempted to break through it. He wondered if that deterred business at all or if it made people feel safer, figuring that if the door hadn't come down yet, it was a better protected establishment than others.

He'd almost strode through the door, but had stopped himself. He'd been gone for almost two months—only two months—yet he felt like this small shop was no longer his home. What he'd once thought of as the peaceful silence of Silvermoon now felt dead. He found himself wishing to have his senses overrun by the bustling streets of Orgrimmar, with its crowded houses and loud inhabitants.

Shuddering as he heard something scuff against the ground in the distance and wondering if it were a ghoul of some kind, he jerked the door to the shop open and walked inside. The store was just as lonely as he'd remembered it. The walls were bare, save for one or two shelves with sparse materials on them. Only a few feet from the door was a display case with different trinkets and jewelry boasting the excellent craftsmanship of their creator.

Sethyl slipped around the counter, careful not to bump it or jostle the service bell which rested on one corner, and slipped behind a curtain that led into the back of the store. He stopped as he passed into the back, seeing his father sitting hunched over at his work bench, carefully placing a few emeralds into a delicate necklace.

He didn't look up or make any attempt to acknowledge Sethyl's arrival, though the paladin knew he'd registered his presence. However, such meticulous detail required concentration.

Sethyl stood in silence until his father had secured the last of the gems and then sighed before looking up at his son. The elf's hair was beginning to gray around the temples, and he looked all around worn out.

Shifting his weight, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention, Sethyl nodded to his father. "I'm home."

The words sounded empty, and his father caught that too, though he merely nodded. "Did the blood knight barracks finally get too crowded for your liking?"

"I haven't been..." Sethyl realized that when he'd headed off to see about Impervious' recruitment, he'd been angry with his father and hadn't given him any type of warning. He walked over to the table his father was at and sat across from him. "I went to Orgrimmar. Joined a guild." He shrugged as his father blinked back his surprise. "I've helped out in Outland, and I was even there when Quel'Danas was reclaimed."

His father couldn't help a small smile, though he quickly allowed a stern look to replace it. "I'd figured you just weren't talking to me...since I told you to stop basing your life around the shop."

Sethyl laughed slowly. "Ah, no. Just being careless and inconsiderate." As his father's smile returned, he paused and suddenly felt guilty for coming home. "I..." There was no point in lying; his father would be able to tell. "One of my guild mates had this ring...." He paused and rummaged through his bags before pulling Liila's mangled accessory up for his father to see. The older elf knit his brow together as he reached out and took the ring to inspect. It had a few deep gashes that almost broke the ring all together, and parts of what had once been delicate branches with leaves had been twisted down so that the wearer would be stabbed in the finger if they tried to put it on.

As he flipped it over, looking to see that most of the inscription on the inside had been scratched out, Sethyl continued. "I...wanted to fix it for her."

"Her," his father echoed, green eyes snapping toward his son. The ring was clearly of elven make, but if he'd met the lass in Orgrimmar.... The last thing he needed was half-orc grandchildren. Would they be green? Even as he supposed he could get over such petty, shallow concerns, if he really needed to, Sethyl started talking again, oblivious to his father's near panic attack.

Sethyl had reached across the table and taken the ring back, holding it so that his father could see the top as he tapped it. "I think this is a family crest, and I thought maybe I could look through our books to see which one, so that I can restore it properly."

A family crest meant she was an elf. His father thanked the Light quickly and nodded, though he frowned. "Why not just ask her?"

"Well, I wanted to surprise her," Sethyl mumbled. In truth, he'd wanted to find out more about Liila's past, possibly something to help him understand her...or push her to keeping her end of their deal.

After they'd eliminated the Scourge attacking Orgrimmar, and spent the day cleaning up, Sethyl had tried to talk to Liila about the answers she owed him, but she had merely thrown herself against his shoulder and all but commanded him to carry her home so that she could rest. He had not been amused. On his way back to the inn, as he wondered where _he_ was going to sleep—since the building was in pretty poor shape—he'd gone by Whisper's Vials and had found the ring lying on the ground, with the necklace it had been strung up on broken.

The next day he'd intended to return the item to her, ruined as it was, figuring that Liila knew plenty of jewel crafters and had probably chosen to keep the ring in such a mutilated state for some reason beyond his comprehension. However, she'd avoided him all that day and dodged answering any of his questions again, saying that they could talk about it once Orgrimmar wasn't in shambles. On the third morning, he'd finally asked Margaret to port him back to Silvermoon. If she wouldn't talk to him willingly, he'd find something that would make her talk.

He hoped his father would take his actions as being bashful rather than manipulative, and as he looked toward the older elf, he had to fight back a triumphant grin. The older elf wandered over to a small bookshelf on one side of the room and ran his fingers over a few different tomes before plucking one off the shelf and flipping it open as he walked back to the table.

"Did you want my help, or to do this ring for your friend on your own?"

~"~

Renza'shi trotted up to Liila's house. In truth, the little elf had bought a home with Whisper and Margaret, though it was a rare occasion when all three of them were there. Often times, at least one of them was off roaming the world, be it questing, seeking assistance, or merely gathering reagents to keep their business going.

He was still tired as hell, though he supposed he would get over it soon enough. Murk had offered that it had something to do with the diseases that the death knight had used on them. While they were gone, the body had still started to mount its own defense against the infection, and as a result whenever a disease was removed—according to Murk—it left the person who'd had it rather muddled and sluggish for a little while. The worse the disease, the worse the side effect.

While he didn't want to think how bad it must have been for him to be ready to curl up and sleep almost half a week later, Renza'shi pushed it to the back of his mind as he walked up to the door to Liila's home. He could hear voices inside. Accompanying the usual chatter was a male voice, and for a moment he paused to wonder if that paladin from Everlook was there.

Rather, as he came into view and was welcomed in by Whisper who caught sight of him first, he found Wren to be seated at the table in the center of the dining area. He had a curious look on his face as Margaret went on about something, though his curiosity seemed at least in part to the way the house had been set up.

If he'd only stayed at the inn, he wouldn't have really had a chance to see orcish homes yet. Renza'shi eyed the elf from the door as a few introductions were tossed about. Margaret patted a seat at the table and grinned. "Stop blocking the doorway, and come in."

"Dat be okay, mon—"

"You're here to see Liila, right?" Whisper asked from a counter where she was chopping vegetables. "She ran to the market to gather a few things before we eat." She paused and glanced over at him. "If you want to stay for dinner, you're welcome to. I think Howl and Gregor are coming by a bit later."

Bowing his head quickly, Renza'shi took a step back into the night. "Actualleh, Ah tink Ah go find Liila, yeh? Ah needed ta talk ta ha."

Despite Margaret and Whisper practically insisting he stay, he managed to get out of it and walked back along the road toward the Valley of Strength. Just as he paused to wonder if maybe Liila had gone to one of the smaller market areas instead of the one that was still undergoing repairs, she came around a corner, carrying a small satchel over one of her shoulders.

She picked up her pace as she saw Renza'shi and he waved. When the two had stopped in front of one another, the troll warrior scratched the back of his neck and glanced around the empty street. People had been staying in after dark for the most part, after the ghoul attack...even though the monsters had attacked them in broad daylight, there was that stigma that came with the darkness.

"So, Ah nah be havin' ya ring," Renza'shi offered.

Liila's shoulders slumped, but she nodded. The two stood in silence for a moment before Liila motioned past him toward her house. "If you want to come for dinner—"

"Nah, tanks t'ough." He glanced around again and then slung an arm over her shoulders and redirected her path toward a side street. "Le's talk outta de way, yeh?"

"Sure." Liila allowed him to guide her down to one of the allies and then stopped just inside of it. "What's on your mind?"

"Ah wann'ed ta apolagize fa earlia." Renza'shi stretched his back, towering over the little elf before dropping back down and leaning against a wall to bring him closer to her height. "Ah wasn' tinkin' a wat ya had ta go tru ta get dat resarrection abiliteh." When Liila cocked her head, he sighed. "Don' be mad at Murk, t'ough, a'ight? He been tinkin' 'bout wat be best fa de Horde."

Liila sighed. "I know. I just...I don't know which parts of the curse do what, or I'd give you guys an idea of what would help you."

Her words sounded hollow, as though she were forcing herself to act civil. Renza'shi shook his head slowly. "Don' be worrehin' 'bout it, yeh? Ah keep Murk from buggin' ya."

"Thank you," Liila nodded her head to him and patted his shoulder. He smiled as he nodded back and swung himself back to his feet, leading the way out of the alley.

Liila tapped his arm as they stepped back into the open night. "Are you sure you don't want to come to dinner?"


	16. Building Up

Sethyl shivered as he appeared in the Cleft in Orgrimmar. Taking portals always made him uneasy, though he could never quite place why. No other elves seemed to have such problems, however, so he wasn't about to voice his unsettlement.

It didn't help that they were so expensive, either.

However, Enlyhn had told him that he'd only summon him if he could have his soul, Timmons hadn't even dignified his request with a response, and he hadn't wanted to spend a week on the zeppelin just to get back to Orgrimmar. By then Liila would probably have found some adventure to get caught up in, and then he'd be waiting forever for his answers.

While Sethyl was getting pretty good at navigating the streets of Orgrimmar, the Cleft was another story, and he counted himself lucky that he'd even managed to find daylight, even if it was in the wrong part of town. It only took Sethyl a moment to realize that he was in the Valley of Strength. People were still scrambling to repair shops, and more than a few shopkeepers were taking advantage of the free labor to add on to their buildings. Was there a second floor to that store? Why yes there was; it was smallish, but definitely there.

As Sethyl passed through, he paused when he saw Shadow single handedly holding up a wall frame while Wren and Gregor drummed nails into place near the top, securing it to the other walls. Shadow caught sight of him and nodded his head, the only motion he could really afford, as he offered a quick hello.

Sethyl walked up to them and returned the nod to Shadow and waved to Gregor and Wren. The other two offered quick, muffled greetings, nails held between their lips. Looking about quickly for any signs of other guild mates and seeing no one, Sethyl turned his attention back to the others. "Do you need help?"

Gregor paused in his hammering and leaned over the edge to peer down at his elven friend. "Howl was supposed to have come with more struts and bolts and the like almost an hour ago, but he probably got bogged down with more smithing. Want to go find him? His shop's in the Valley of Honor." When Sethyl nodded, Gregor paused and vaulted off of his perch, kicking up a small cloud of reddish dust when he thudded into the ground. He sauntered over to where he'd set a few bags and rustled through them until he came out with a pen and paper. His boney fingers moved with an eerie grace as he sketched out a quick map and then handed it to Sethyl. "He'll probably be in the main smithy. If not, just ask around for Master Blacksmith Bonecrusher."

As soon as Sethyl was on his way, Gregor scaled back up the frame with ease and picked up where he'd left off, though he paused when he heard a soft squeak from the ground behind him and looked down to see a small sin'dorei mage watching him. Her large eyes widened even more as she realized she'd caught his attention, and she scurried off into the crowd of people hauling timber and merchants trying to turn at least a small profit during the reconstruction.

Wren arched his eyebrows as he stared after the petite little creature—she couldn't have been out of her teens—and then glanced at Gregor, who had already thrown himself back into his work. "What was that about?"

"The living don't like dead things," Shadow murmured from below. He shifted his weight, and the whole wall shook. After offering a quick apology, he sighed. "People get scared of us decent guys just because our hearts stopped beating and then go and cuddle up with Enlyhn. Makes no sense."

Gregor let out a rasping laugh. "Isn't that the truth."

Wren sat up straighter, fighting the urge to go track down the little elf and have her apologize, though he supposed he understood her fears. The first time he'd seen a forsaken climb something, able to move their limbs in ways that would have left a breathing individual with muscle cramps or popped out knee-caps, he'd had nightmares, his mind going back to the way some of the zombies—the geists—had scaled walls during the invasion of Silvermoon.

Wren was glad that he'd spent time in the Ghostlands with other forsaken before coming to Orgrimmar. Gregor was quite possibly the most honorable man he'd ever met, and he was glad he'd never acted so jumpy around his guild leader.

Gregor, however, was oblivious to Wren's thoughts. He drummed the last of his nails into the frame and sighed, glancing toward the elf. "Done?"

"Hmm? Oh." Wren quickly hammered in the last few nails and then nodded. As he did so, Shadow nudged the wall carefully and frowned when it still shook a bit.

With a laugh, Gregor dropped back down to the ground. "Once it's got the roof and planks on it, I doubt it'll be so shaky."

"Wouldn't want to learn that you're wrong the hard way," Shadow mumbled, shaking it again carefully. While it didn't give much, it was enough to make the death knight imagine the building collapsing on some innocent patron, happily perusing the shopkeeper’s collection, unaware that he was about to be squished.

Gregor laughed off the tauren's concerns, slapping him on the arm as he picked up a few water skins and tossed one to Wren. As the two plopped down in the scarce shade of one of the nearby buildings that had suffered almost no damage, Wren looked out over city street, allowing his mind to wander.

The ground shook as Shadow thudded to a seat as well. Despite the dozens of denizens, they'd managed to find a quiet nook, other conversations and work providing a pleasant, droning hum. Well, Wren could make out a few different conversations going on as clear as day, but he was getting better at tuning out background noise.

"So word in Acherus is that the Alliance are going for Illidan," Shadow said casually. When Wren offered him water, the tauren merely laughed. "I haven't needed any of that in a long time." His face fell for a moment before he brushed it off and looked toward Gregor. "I don't suppose we could head to Northrend as soon as Orgrimmar is repaired?"

The corners of Gregor's lips dipped into a frown. "While people are turning their attentions north, it's still going to be a month or so before any real progress is made. And even with Illidan and the others dead, Outland will still need help. Soldiers and supplies. We're stretching ourselves thin."

It was Shadow's turn to frown. However, before he could say anything, Sethyl was back, his horse looking loathe to be drawing a small cart weighted down with sheets of metal and wood. Sethyl didn't look to be in a much better mood than his horse, and he scowled as he trotted over to the other three and dropped down to join them before they could call off their break and get to work unloading the cart.

He leaned toward them and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing back toward the Valley of Honor. "Some moron is saying that Anonymous defeated Kael'thas and Kil'jaeden."

Wren furrowed his brow. "What...?"

Before both elves could launch into the injustice of claiming another person's kill, Gregor and Shadow exchanged a quick glance. Shadow rolled his eyes. Gregor held his hands out and managed to quiet the two before they could make a scene. "There's no need to get upset."

"Why shouldn't we?" Sethyl snapped, despite the warning look from his guild leader. "We risked our lives to rid the world of those monsters and—"

"Impervious is Anonymous," Shadow interjected, his voice so low that Wren had to say he was impressed that Gregor had even heard him. However, before he could consider what credit was due, what Shadow had said sunk in.

Both elves stared at them, dumbstruck.

"Well, half of Anonymous, anyway," Gregor corrected.

The death knight rolled his shoulders slowly, one and then the other, ignoring his guild leader's comment. "Why do you think it's a guild requirement to wear helms during raids?"

"So that we don't get our brains bashed out," Wren objected, though Gregor merely laughed.

"There is that, but we try not to let people see _who_ we are."

"And Margaret, Genji, Mitchell, and Sprocket have a memory spell that they use for when people do see us," Shadow explained, though he paused and merely smiled at a few orcs who walked by. He waited until they were out of earshot to continue. "If you ask anyone who was at Quel'Danas to describe anyone in the raid that went into the Sunwell Plateau, they'll be able to give generic descriptions at best."

"If someone really wanted to," Gregor added, "they could find out. For example, they'll remember that we have a paladin, so if they're dedicated enough, they could use process of elimination to figure out who had to have been there, but it won't be from any direct memory of seeing us."

Sethyl eyed the two carefully. "I told my dad I was at Quel'Danas."

"And there were a lot of individual adventurers or groups there, so there's no reason you can't say that." Shadow shrugged. "Just...Whisper's mother, Cloudless' lover, _your_ families...do you want to draw attention to them by drawing attention to yourselves?"

"Because of that thing with the Alliance going after them?" Wren asked, suddenly tempted to scream at the top of his lungs that he was in Anonymous.

Gregor shook his head slowly. "And the other guilds that would assume that because we're strong enough to down demons and gods, that it means we would be useful in going after leaders of the Alliance. Do you really want to be blackmailed by Blood and Honor to go raze Darnasus?"

"And if people ask us why we won't attack the Alliance, then it looks like we're either sympathizers or something worse. It's better that they think we're mediocre at best and let us choose our battles than having to fight just to prove we're loyal to the Horde."

As Shadow finished talking, he rose to his feet and walked over to the cart to inspect the different supplies Sethyl had brought to them. He hoisted up a few planks and gave Gregor a playful glare. "I suppose this will be sturdy enough to withstand any sandstorms, though I don't know about another ghoul invasion."

"Well, hopefully we won't have another one of those." Gregor grinned as he shouldered a few bags of bolts and screws and went back to work.

Shadow paused as Wren and Sethyl both walked over to help unload and caught each of them by the shoulder as he leaned down to whisper in their ears. "If anyone outside of the guild suddenly comes up asking about Anonymous or anything that implies that they think that's who we are, your heads will be on the chopping block before anyone else's. We've kept ourselves secret for years, so there's no reason for it to get out now."

~"~

Liila was kneeling behind the counter when Sethyl walked into the shop and looked around. He paused when he saw her, though she kept about her business, as though he weren't there.

Sethyl walked over to the display case and stood near the end. Whisper had a good many friends, it had turned out, and it had been less than a week before a few guards had taken it upon themselves during their time off to fix the shop up. While some had claimed it was merely out of altruism—and because the rest of the city was getting the attention it needed, so why not help the little shop—Margaret had teased that they just wanted to be sure they'd be able to stop in and get potions or flasks as usual. If all the employees of Whisper's Vials were too busy with repairs, there would have been a distinct lack of product.

He was hours later than he'd meant to be. Even when Gregor had offered that Sethyl seemed like he had a place to be, the paladin had merely brushed it off and kept working alongside them. He didn't want to just leave them when there was clearly so much to do. They'd kept up their pace until they'd had most of the roof in place before calling it a night. Really, Sethyl suspected the only reason they had was because the sun had set low enough that it cast eerie shadows across the valley, as it could barely reach inside it any longer. After all, there wasn't much point in working in the dark. Shadow had joked that glowy eyes didn't substitute for sunlight.

Sethyl snapped from his thoughts as he realized that Liila had finished her organization and was standing quietly in front of him, watching his expressions change with his memories. Sethyl took a quick step back before allowing himself to relax and smirk. "Well then, I believe you owe me some answers, yes?"

His hand was in his pocket, around her ring, as he waited for her to try to deny him. Liila tilted her head to the side, her expression as unreadable as ever. Then, she slowly stepped around the display case, trailing her fingers over the top of it before she paused again. However, while he suspected she had been thinking of a way out of answering any of his questions, she merely motioned toward the table in the back. "Interrogate away."

Sethyl had to say he was disappointed. However, he overcame his sense of defeat and waited until they were seated before resting one of his ankles on his opposite knee and drumming his fingers against his leg. "The curse you suffer from...what is it?"

Frowning as he went straight to the point, Liila glanced around as though to make sure no one else was listening in. The rest of the shop and street beyond were empty. She paused to dart over to the entrance and light a few torches, to show they were still open, and then made her way back to the table, lighting a few candles on the walls as she went. She waited until she was again seated to reply. "It's a death curse, of sorts. Parts of it have been removed but originally it was made to bind me to the man who led the attack on Orgrimmar, much the same way a ghoul is bound to a death knight." She paused. "However, unlike a ghoul he wanted me alive, so his spell was more complex and required more time and…effort."

Sethyl cocked his head. "Why did he want you alive?"

Liila inspected her short, unpainted nails. "I don't remember that far back." She shrugged. "I have...amnesia. Whether it is a side effect of the curse or simply the result of being hit too hard...or something else all together, is beyond my understanding, but I cannot remember my life prior to my Scourge imprisonment."

"Oh." Sethyl had to say he felt kind of like a dick, though he paused as he considered that he may have done her a favor by fixing the ring after all. Before he could bring it up, she began speaking again.

"Anyway, he'd wanted me alive. He said a few times something about defying him, but... He liked to keep me confused. He was tinkering with his runes, to try to perfect his curse and get me to submit completely to his will when Shadow saved me." Liila never referred to the death knight who had hurt her by name, he'd noticed. Perhaps she feared saying his name might somehow bring him back. She shifted in her chair and shrugged again, as though the mere memory of her imprisonment were weighing down on her, draining her. "He could have controlled me so easily if he had just risen me, but he was intent that my heart keep beating. Through any death..." When she noticed he looked ready to interrupt her again, she shrugged, suddenly looking so exhausted. Sethyl wanted to reach out and brush away her weariness and worries. "I suppose you may not have heard, but...when I die, the runes bring me back to life, though I maintain whatever injuries I had that killed me. So without heals, I die again and again. If the curse is in its dormant state, I can heal myself, depending on the injury. If it's active—"

"I don't need to hear anymore," Sethyl whispered. What had he expected her to tell him about the curse? That it would all be fun and mishaps, the way her life seemed to be now, in Impervious? He debated whether he ought to even ask about the bet. Margaret had mentioned that Liila had been pissed off about something, and he wondered if it might be equally depressing.

Liila however, offered that tale freely, along with the back story. "Haa'aji and I met shortly after Shadow saved me, and the two of us made our way out of the Plaguelands to Tirisfal. Despite our heartbeats and some skeptical or cynical forsaken, we were accepted by them and when they joined the Horde, we did as well."

"So then...Haa'aji is an Ama—"

"That is his story to tell, should he find himself in a talkative mood," Liila held up her hand to silence his protests. She let it drop back to the table with a dull thud after Sethyl closed his mouth. "When rumor spread that the sin'dorei were joining the Horde, Haa'aji and a few others teased that I would be running off with some elf to regain my heritage. We didn't really understand the full extent of the hatred the sin'dorei hold for the quel'dorei, though I sometimes wonder if I really count as the latter anymore..."

She trailed off as she wound a lock of hair around her fingers, staring off into space. Margaret's braids still punctuated her hair and gave her a trollish look. "I was excited to meet my own kind. After all, I can't remember what it was like to live with other elves. I was nearly cut down for it. It pissed me off. Haa'aji didn't like how much energy I was wasting on the whole matter and offered up the bet. No emotions for a year."

"So then...you lost the bet?" If it was centered around the sin'dorei, then it definitely hadn't been a year since the bet's start.

"I did," Liila muttered. "I let myself snap when that man escaped...."

"That seems a little unfair," Sethyl objected on her behalf. As she arched an eyebrow, he scratched the back of his head. "I mean...that seems a bit extreme of a bet if you weren't supposed to get angry at the man who tortured you."

"I was allowed to get as angry as I wanted. I shouldn't have shown it."

When Liila didn't offer any further explanation, Sethyl eyed her. "So what happens now that you've lost?"

"I have to heal next raid. Whenever that may be."

"And if you'd won?"

Liila brushed a few crinkles out of her shirt. "Haa'aji would have had to heal."

"Haa'aji is a rogue."

"And?" She looked back at him. "I am a shadow priest."

"But...you'll go holy or discipline for healing," Sethyl frowned. It hadn't been that long since he himself had been a priest.

The corners of Liila's lips turned up into a rather mischievous smile for a mere second before her expression blanked, and she shrugged. "I still wish Haa'aji had lost. It would have been fun to see him running around bandaging everyone."

Sethyl didn't bother to reply to that. There was obviously a difference in opinion regarding the word 'fun'. Their conversation was put on hold when a few trolls sauntered into the shop and called out brief hellos. They went straight to Liila with their requests for potions, as the shelves they normally cleared were still empty. The small high elf scribbled down a few things and then nodded to them, telling them to come back in the morning and apologizing for the delay. The trolls merely laughed it off and headed back out.

As Liila came back by, she tapped Sethyl's shoulder and motioned for him to follow her into the back room. It turned out to be a bit bigger than Sethyl had thought it would be, and it was filled with empty vials and an alchemy station. One wall was entirely boxes of herbs. Sethyl leaned in the doorway as Liila rummaged through a few boxes and brought them over to the alchemy table. "If anyone comes in, please let me know."

Sethyl nodded and repositioned himself so that he could see the shop, even though he doubted he'd need to. He'd probably hear anyone come in. "If you have no memories..." He trailed off as she glanced at him and then went back to her work. "Well, about your name—"

"Haa'aji and Timmons named me," Liila spoke quickly, snapping a bud in half with extra force.

Sethyl cocked his head. "What's your real name, then?"

"As with every other detail of my life before my imprisonment by the Scourge, I do not know."

"Really? There's nothing rattling around in that head of yours?" Sethyl blinked, slightly surprised. While, sure, she'd been a lifeless irritation when he'd first met her, her underlying sense of humor and ability to screw with him had sort of made him think that she couldn't have so miserable a past. Or perhaps that was what drove her to have so much 'fun' now? The two were silent for a long, quiet moment, with Liila carefully tending to her potions, before she finally sighed.

"No."

"What?"

She glared at him, annoyed he hadn't kept up with the conversation. "I...do have two memories, though they're just...scraps."

Sethyl's ears perked up, and Liila glanced around to the shop, half expecting to see someone standing there. When she saw it was empty, she realized his actions had been in curiosity.

"What are they?" Even as he asked, he suddenly felt nosy. Like he was taking advantage of their deal.

Liila eyed him before shrugging. "Love and betrayal."

Despite wanting to ask further, Sethyl stopped himself. She'd kept her end of their deal, and he could see that their conversation was making her uncomfortable. The two stood in silence for another eternity before he finally ran his fingers through his messy hair—his spikes were haphazard at best anyway—and looked back at her. "So then...If you're free from your curse—"

"I'm not completely free. Not yet," Liila sighed. "It's in progress, though."

"In progress?"

Even as Sethyl echoed the words, Liila set the potion she was working on down, and her fingers closed around the edge of one of her sleeves. However, she seemed to think better of whatever she was planning on doing and merely tugged her sleeve down further so that it nearly engulfed her hand. "Part of the curse has been dismantled, but other parts remain intact."

"It's odd that you'd be able to break some of the curse, but not all of it."

"I call it a curse, but really, it's more like dozens that were just combined loosely through death runes. They have to be active to be broken," Liila returned her attention to her work. "When I die, they all activate, though I don't know which ones bring me back to life. If the wrong ones are dismantled, and I were killed again to remove another section of the curse, I wouldn't come back and four years would be wasted."

 Sethyl offered an awkward apology for having suggested it, though she merely shrugged in response. He glanced around, slowly. "Well...there's major progress with your curse, and your bet is over, so why are you still so...."

As he searched for the right word, Liila lit a few burners and began to fill several vials with varying amounts of water. She dropped a few leaves into a small, dry bowl and began to crush them into a fine powder. "Why am I not as bubbly as Margaret or as expressive as Haa'aji?" Liila offered for him.

It wasn't quite how he would have put it, but he shrugged. "Yeah."

"Gregor and Gore told me to behave, so I am."

Sethyl arched his eyebrows. "Come again?"

"When the elves joined the Horde," Liila replied slowly, before abruptly frowning and shoving the bowl toward Sethyl. "Crush these. I need to get started on the blindweed." As Sethyl obliged her, pausing to glance toward the door again, she returned to answering his question. "Many of us have fun with people. We like to play around, and we've upset more than a few. I'm sure you've heard reference to Haa'aji, Shadow, and I being banned from Undercity, for instance. Gore did not want us to upset our new allies. So we were told to behave."

As Sethyl considered some of the things they'd done, he cocked his head. However, she tapped the table beside the bowl she'd given him, and he quickly went back to work. "If stealing a void reaver and telling people I hit you was behaving, what exactly would be you misbehaving?"

"Oh, you know," Liila rolled her eyes dramatically as she considered examples. Sethyl had to smile when he saw her finally acting like a living, breathing creature, but kept his thoughts to himself. "Stealing a sentry from Silvermoon, seeing how flammable your trees are, kidnapping those cats that Whisper says walk your streets, rewriting some people's spells, stealing books, pulling the elven warlock coven into a coven war, finding out if your magisters really fire proof their eyebrows while studying combustible magics, getting Lor'themar drunk and blackmailing him with the fact that he slept with a high elf, mentioning certain secrets to certain people to make them uncomfortable—"

"You'd sleep with Lor'themar just to blackmail him?" Sethyl had to fight back a laugh.

"If he's drunk enough, he wouldn't know what he did," Liila replied, shrugging. Liila paused, abruptly eyeing Sethyl. "It's not that we would actually do such things...our guild leaders just have no faith in us."

"Of course," Sethyl mused. He finished crushing the leaves, and Liila pulled the bowl away from him, separating the contents into a few neat piles on the table and then pouring them into different vials. "And these warnings to behave just came out of the blue, I suppose?"

"There may have been an incident with Ambassador Dawnsinger." Liila paused to look at him. "You might not want to tell her you're in our guild, by the way."

"What happened?"

"I was not actually there for that, so it's not my story to tell," Liila finished with her blindsweed and gathered a few diced buds in one hand and a stopper in the other. She carefully tossed the plant parts into one of the vials and capped it as smoke bloomed up toward her fingers. She shook the vial slowly, mixing the gases back into the liquid. "However, I will say that Haa'aji thought she was being a bitch."

"Why?"

"She was siding with one of your pally pals," Liila muttered, setting the vial down and then repeating her actions with the next four. "Captain Dawnsedge, I believe. Honestly, I don't remember, and he's not here in Orgrimmar anymore, so I don't care. He felt he should be allowed to cut me down merely for asking him a question."

"What was the question?"

"If he would help me find out who I was before I lost my memories," Liila replied, abruptly losing interest in the conversation. She pulled out a few dried leaves and began to crumble them.

However, the damage had been done, so to speak. Sethyl's attention had been drawn back to her amnesia, and his ears perked up as he reached back into his pocket. He held it out to her, a half smile replacing his usual irritation. Liila started to reach for it and then jerked her hand back to threw a few caps on several potions that were threatening to bubble over. He realized she must have added that leaf while he wasn't paying attention.

"This is yours. I…I should have given it back to you earlier, but, well..."

His voice trailed off as she reached up and took her ring from his hand. She flipped it over a few times, though she made no attempt to put it back on. Sethyl watched her inspect the jewelry before jolting to his senses and rummaging through one of his satchels. He pulled out a thin gold chain and offered it to her. "I forgot you wear it around your neck."

She took the chain, somewhat reluctantly. When he cleared his throat, for a second he thought he saw a look of dread on her face. He dismissed it as his own nerves playing tricks on him and motioned toward her ring. "I went back to my father's shop to get the proper materials to fix it...." He figured he would just make something up about elven tempering or some such if she asked why he couldn't have repaired it in Orgrimmar. She didn't. "And, well, I was working on it that night when an elf came in and…he recognized the crest on it...on your ring." It dawned on him that she would probably be as clueless about her ring as he had been when he first looked up its owner. "It turns out it's not a family crest, but rather one for a small sect of the priesthood, who studied under a Keyl Lightsarrow."

Liila didn't move. By the light, for a moment he thought she might not be breathing. Sethyl shifted his weight. "Well, he's a magister, and he thinks you might have been one of his pupils."

When Liila still didn't respond, he frowned. He'd thought she might be nervous, but had hoped for enthusiasm. After all, she couldn't remember who she was. This was a lead. "I know that people are turning their attentions toward the Lich King, but we still have some time before most think we should head out to Northrend, so...I bet Genji would give us a port to Silvermoon, and we could talk to him." He paused. "I mean, I won't go with you, if you don't want me to...I just remember where he said he lives. I suppose I could write it down for you."

"He just...came into your shop while you were repairing the ring?" Liila finally asked.

Sethyl's frown deepened. Okay, so he hadn't. Sethyl had restored the crest, seen that the notes regarding that crest indicated that it didn't belong to an actual family, gone to the registrar, and had tracked the magister down. She was missing the point. "What does it matter how he saw it?"

"So," Liila said, turning the ring over in her hands as she inspected it. Her only memories of the accessory were of the mangled piece of metal that Haa'aji had taken off her finger while they'd traveled through the Plaguelands together. She still didn't know why she'd kept it as she had. "You want me to go with you to the capital of a people whose general response to seeing me is to try to kill me...because on some chance encounter an elf said he recognized the crest on the ring I was carrying around...which, I might add, might not even really be mine." She'd seen Bloodsworn switch jewelry around on his other victims so that it was almost impossible to identify any bodies that might turn up. She doubted she was any different.

Sethyl felt indignant. "I won't let anyone hurt you." As she turned her unreadable gaze toward him, he shifted uncomfortably. "After all, we're guild mates."

Even as she stared at him, they heard the sound of boots entering the shop. After a pause, Wren's cheerful voice greeted them. He popped his head into the back room, freezing momentarily as he saw it was Liila Sethyl was talking to and not Whisper. His hair was sticking to his neck and shoulders, and he looked ready to pass out. "What's going on?"

"Sethyl may have found someone who knew me before I was taken by the Scourge," Liila replied, her voice calm, though Sethyl had a feeling that she was anything but. Sethyl offered Wren a quick explanation of Liila's amnesia, though he cut himself off near the end when he realized she was glaring at him, as though she hadn't expected him to go around telling everyone what he'd worked so hard to learn.

Wren seemed oblivious of the tension, as usual. "So…when are you meeting him?"

"I don't know." Liila abruptly shrugged and slipped past the two, sauntering to the small table in the back of the shop. She slipped her ring onto the chain Sethyl had given her and let it dangle from her fingers.

Sethyl felt somehow trapped by the action. "If you don't want to go, don't."

Liila stepped past the table to adjust a few potions on the shelves, apparently done with her order for the time being. When she was finished, she stepped away from the shelf, inspected it, and then turned back to Sethyl. "I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your efforts, but I would have preferred you ask me before taking my ring and…fixing it."

As Sethyl floundered between apologizing or defending his actions, Wren merely offered his hand and then inspected the ring himself. He vaguely recognized it, probably from one of the many, many, many women his brother took home with him. He handed the ring back to Liila.

"While he probably should have asked, isn't this good?" Wren shrugged. "You can find out who you were."

Liila looked away from them, her lips forming a thin line that seemed strained, as though her quiet demeanor were fighting back emotions that wanted to violently free themselves. "I don't remember the beginning of my imprisonment, but I know I was held captive for at least seven months, if not longer." She looked back down at the ring, her eyes looking a few shades darker than they usually did. For a moment, they didn't think she would say anything else, though she finally shrugged and slipped the necklace on. "Please understand that I have mixed feelings about my life before my curse."

"Meh gods, mon! Liila be speakin' moa den two wo'ds at a time!" 

Sethyl and Wren looked past her to see Haa'aji, Enlyhn, and Timmons standing in the doorway. Timmons strode up to Liila, a smirk in place. "It's so cute that you actually talk to them now."

The hint of a glare flickered across her face before she abruptly slung herself over Timmons' shoulders as he turned to head toward the guild hall. The warlock stilled as Liila leaned her head against his and patted his hood. "Shall I say a prayer for you?"

"Do you want a third curse?" Timmons muttered, smirk gone.

Liila wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed to the side, tipping the warlock off his balance. "I think you like me too much to do that."

"What's the second curse?" Sethyl asked before he could stop himself.

Liila shrugged, still leaning against Timmons. "You'll have to be more than just an escort if you want to hear all of my secrets."

Timmons lightly gripped the rim of his hood as it threatened to pull back from his harasser's actions. "Haa'aji. Control your woman."

"'N do wat, mon? Send ha ta de kitchen? She'd kill us all wit' dat poison she calls food." Haa'aji abruptly darted over and ducked down behind Wren and Sethyl, as though to use them as shields. However, Liila made no attempt to go after him, merely narrowing her eyes as the blue hue to them darkened slightly. Wren and Sethyl glanced at one another, wondering what exactly was going on. Haa'aji shrugged and slung and arm over each of their shoulders, apparently no longer worried about repercussions for his comments. He twitched when a few shadows slithered across his skin and flicked his ear. Releasing Sethyl, he pulled out one of his daggers and held it as though he were about to throw it.

"Ah be watchin' ya, wooman."

"Watch all you want. It won't save you."

Liila moved so that Timmons was in Haa'aji's way, and the warlock glanced over his shoulder irritably, as though used to being used as a meat shield. "If my robe gets ruined by either of you, I'm burning this shop down."

Enlyhn examined a few potions as he interrupted the odd standoff. "Can you guys at least wait until the elves and I are gone before you get yourselves banned from Orgrimmar?"

"Like either of them really want to be here," Liila said calmly. As she turned to walk back toward the lab, Haa'aji's dagger flew past her face, almost hitting her nose, and embedded itself in the wall behind her, right next to a potion.

"If you break anything, Sham's gonna be asking you about Vivi," Liila crossed her arms and stood where he could hit her easily.

Enlyhn walked to the door to the guild hall and swung it open. "Well, that's my cue to leave. You comin'?" He looked over his shoulder at Timmons, though his fellow warlock merely waved him to go ahead.

Wren had wanted to follow after Enlyhn, but at the same time, he felt trapped under Haa'aji's arm. He glanced up at the troll to see he was watching him. However, even as Timmons asked if Vivi was their void reaver, and Liila nodded, Haa'aji released Wren and sauntered over to retrieve his dagger.

"Neway," He looked over at Liila. "We doin' dat road trip ta Silvamoon a nah?"

Sethyl froze. "Wait, what?" He looked at Liila. "You were already planning on going to Silvermoon?"

"Nah," Timmons shook his head. "We just heard you talking as we were coming up."

The paladin frowned. He was growing too used to hearing so many people moving around at once that he seemed to be losing his edge when it came to identifying who he might know or who was headed specifically toward him...but then, he hadn't really been trying.

"I'm not going to Silvermoon." Even as Sethyl and Timmons both protested, suddenly serious, Liila shrugged. "It would be like Timmons walking into Stormwind."

Wren perked up, almost forgetting how uneasy Haa'aji made him feel. "What if we told them you were coming and made sure you could speak with whoever you need without being harassed or persecuted?"

Timmons grinned as Liila frowned. "They're slowly whittling away your excuses for not going back home."

"My home is here," Liila snapped before she could stop herself. Timmons merely laughed and tousled her hair before heading to the guild hall after Enlyhn. Liila stood silent for a moment before giving in. She looked from Sethyl to Wren and back. "If you can get me an assurance that I will not be attacked...and make sure that a few of our guild mates can come along, I'll go with you."

Haa'aji frowned. "Well, damn, wooman. Dat sound like it gon ta be takin' time 'n Ah nah be havin' much a dat. Ah got business in Da'nasus 'n gon ta be gone fa a decen' while afta tamorra."

Even as Sethyl tried to ask if the troll had really meant the kaldorei capital and not some horde establishment with a similar name—he couldn't think of any, but found it hard to believe the troll would go to the damned elves' tree for anything, even an assassination or scouting mission—the high elf wished her friend well, and Haa'aji sauntered off.

Wren walked up and lightly tapped Sethyl's shoulder. "If you'd like my help, the captain of the guard owes me a favor." Honestly, Wren hadn't really spent much time around Liila and the little that he had she'd been mostly silent. However, she was so completely accepted by their senior guild mates that if doubted she could really be an Alliance spy. That was good enough of an assurance for him.

And more importantly, despite wanting to cut off as many ties from his family as he could, years ago he’d been caught up in some rather ridiculous circumstances that had led to him saving the captain of the guard, an elf who, for whatever reason, had earned his brother’s ire. To be free of that tie would be one less thing for Adrias to hold against him. If he could get rid of that, he'd be one step closer to being a free elf. "If we can convince him to let you into Silvermoon for a few days, he'd probably be able to get word out to the proper authorities and perhaps even give you a guard to make sure no harm comes your way."

Forcing a smile, Sethyl wanted to strangle the damn farstrider, though he wasn't sure why. He glanced at Liila, though, and his smile became more genuine. The end result would be the same. "Sounds like a pretty good deal."

Wren nodded, as Liila tried to force a smile herself. "Great. I just need to grab a few things, and I'll head back to Silvermoon with you."

Sethyl noticed that Liila looked ready to protest their hasty departure, though when he looked more pointedly at her, she merely slipped past him and back into the lab to finish her potions.

An hour later, Sethyl leaned against the wall of the inn, staring into the streets as he waited for his fellow elf. Genji was across the way at the trade boards, inspecting different sales and offers. He'd promised that he'd be there for a good while and said for the two to just let him know when they wanted a portal home.

Was he doing the right thing? Liila had said she had conflicted emotions about finding out her past. Sethyl supposed it might be a bit scary, but she didn't seem the type to succumb easily to fear...especially considering all she'd gone through. What else would there be to stop her from wanting to know who she was?

"Lissen, mon," Haa'aji rustled Sethyl's hair, completely destroying what was left of the elf's spikes. Even as the paladin tried to salvage his appearance, the troll continued. "Me 'n Liila. We got hist'reh, yeh? Strong, deep hist'reh." Sethyl's eyes widened as he forgot his looks and stared at the troll. What was the creature trying to imply exactly? Haa'aji frowned, but didn't seem to notice the slightly disturbed look on his guild mate's face. "She be needin' a friend, Ah be dea. She be needin' a protecta, Ah be ha shield. Ah be movin' mountains fa dat gu'l, if dat's wat Ah need ta do."

The troll shook his head slowly and slung an arm over the paladin's shoulders. "Ya nah be de first mon ta come ta tink ya can come ta ha rescue."

"Is this a warning that I should keep my hands to myself?" Sethyl asked, suddenly remembering Timmons' comment about Liila being Haa'aji's woman.

"Nah, mon. If Liila comes ta fanceh ya, dat be ha choice ta let ya hands go wheaeva she wan’ dem to," He grinned as Sethyl's ears turned a shade redder. "Howevea, Ah do got two warnin's fa ya. De first: de moa interes' ya be showin' in Liila, de moa certain sumbodehs be watchin' ya fa a screw up."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sethyl frowned, almost forgetting his earlier embarrassment.

"It be meanin' dat it be easeh ta resign yaself ta knowin' ya can neva be wit' sumbodeh so long as dey be as loneleh as ya. When dey start ta find solace in anotha, t'ough...dat be breedin' jealouseh."

"Who else has a thing for Liila?" Sethyl paused and coughed into his hand, his ears getting redder again. "I mean, not that I do. I'm just curious."

Haa'aji merely grinned and patted his shoulder. "De second warnin'..." The troll turned Sethyl to face him and leaned his forehead against the elf's, his tusks on either side of Sethyl's face. "If a singal tea falls cause a sumtin' ya did ta ha, Ah kill ya mon." He pulled back and grinned. "We good?"


	17. Stealing From Our Own

The day before Wren and Sethyl headed off to Silvermoon to help Liila, two lower aristocratic sin'dorei sat in the shade of one of the inns at one of the few tables within it, staring across the wooden surface to the undead mage who had joined them. The inn had been one of the first places to be rebuilt, as beds were needed for all the workers, and it was a great place to take a break. Not that these gentlemen had been working. No, they'd just arrived about an hour before on the zeppelin, and they were quite put out by the condition of Orgrimmar.

With little enthusiasm to offer to aid with manual labor, the duo had taken a seat and started drinking whilst they regaled one another with week old gossip from Silvermoon. One of the elves had just started in on a story about how he wasn't sure if he and his wife would make it, as the young Magister Duskflame was bedding her, when the mage had joined them.

Mitchell looked from one to the other, his blind gaze taking in their looks of mild disgust at his appearance with general apathy. "Sorry to intrude, but I overheard you mentioning a Duskflame and thought that I might know him."

"I doubt it," the first elf scoffed.

The second, the one who's wife was sleeping around, however, seemed happy to find someone who hadn't heard all the horror stories that went with the Duskflame name. "You probably heard the name whispered sorrowfully off the lips of some broken hearted wretch." When Mitchell cocked his head and leaned his chin into his hand, his elbow against the wobbly table, the elf perked up even more. "Magister Duskflame is a dog, but his son, Adrias, is even worse. He'll sleep with anything that—well, I'd say that has a skirt, but I hear he goes both ways. I doubt even you're safe from his whims."

"Really, now," Mitchell said, easily catching on that the elf needed little prodding. He ignored the jab that he was somehow worse a catch than most, figuring it was just because he was dead. If they started in on his Mohawk though, he'd have to kill somebody.

The sin'dorei cackled gleefully. "It amazes me that they haven't been stripped of their nobility, after all the chaos they bring about. I gander that were Magister Duskflame’s father not the grand warlock, he would have been. They have broken so many families apart. You'd think that after the Scourge attack, they'd least show some restraint, but no. They say that the younger Duskflame, Adrias, bedded a widow at the funeral for her husband. Pulled her off to the side behind a few grave markers. Nothing is sacred to that family."

Nodding slowly, Mitchell seemed to mull over the information. "So then…I don't suppose Wren Duskflame fits into this equation somehow?"

The chattier elf paused to think on the name, but it was his friend who answered. "Wren is the younger son. A farstrider."

"Ah, yes," the second elf frowned. "You don't hear much about him, honestly. He keeps out of the spotlight, which in itself is suspicious. What is he doing that he needs to hide from the public eye?"

"I hear he's into humans…and a few Horde races, too," Mitchell said in a single breath, his face the picture of seriousness.

The elves were drinking up the gossip. The chatty one shrugged. "It doesn't surprise me. That family is beyond twisted."

"Yeah…I wonder if the rest of them are as arrogant as Wren is…" Mitchell trailed off, like he didn't notice the elves exchange a glance. They were used to hearing their people called arrogant, but Mitchell knew better than to let them think it over. "I mean, about two weeks ago, Wren shoves this letter at me—we're in the same guild—and he tells me to deliver it for him. When I tried to protest that I had matters that needed tending, he threw a few copper at me and told me to hurry it up." The elves were trying not to look curious. "I was just gonna light it on fire, but my guild leader doesn't want us to be bitchy to Wren, since he is _so_ important…" He paused and sighed, shrugging. "I didn't know he was the grand warlock's grandson, but I knew he was up there."

"Right, right. What happened with the letter?" the quieter elf goaded.

"Well, I took it and…I'm not gonna lie," Mitchell sighed, slumping down in his chair and looking slightly ashamed. "I opened it. I figured it had to be some important missive or maybe just a request for more mana crystals—he goes through them so quickly—but it wasn't." He paused for effect.

"What was it?"

"A bet." Mitchell straightened up, his turn to look disgusted. "He said he'd laid a certain someone…an Embry Sandsliver, I believe, and was offering his brother a bet to bed someone in return." Mitchell paused, tapping a finger against his chin. "An Analiese or Annaseria or…I'm sorry, I not very good with elven names—" He cut himself off as the chattier elf shot to his feet and began stalking out of the inn. "What's wrong?"

"I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch!"

~"~

Wren stood with Margaret next to a small fruit stall, holding a crate of fresh imports from Rachet. Since the ghoul attack on Orgrimmar, he and a few others had gone down to pick up food supplies, and he'd counted himself lucky to run into Margaret as he carried some of it into the city. She'd been more than happy to unburden his hawkstrider—who looked ready to peck someone's eyes out—and take half the load on her rotting steed.

And with company, the last hour of his trip had been rather pleasant. The elderly orcess who ran the stall was busily inspecting the different wares they'd brought her, and Wren was content to hold the last crate whilst she assured herself that everything would be in order. Already a few customers had come by to pick up different rations, and the orcess was happy to praise and thank Wren for his assistance.

It was Margaret who tipped him off that something was amiss, for she stopped in the middle of story about accidentally blinking off a cliff and ending up dragged out to sea by a current to look past Wren and say, "Can we help you?"

As Wren turned to see who she was talking to, a fist caught him firmly in the nose and sent him stumbling backwards and dropping the crate of fruit to the ground. He held his nose at the bridge, trying to stop the bleeding, and stumbled back further, ignoring the gasps of a few passersby.

His attacker was an elf, and ice had firmly rooted his feet to the ground. However, while he could no longer reach Wren, that wasn't stopping him from swearing up and down about all the horrible things that ought to happen to Wren for destroying his marriage.

It only took Wren a second to realize that this had to have something to do with his brother and his lustful ways. He straightened up as best he could, thanking Margaret as she held a cloth to his nose to stem the blood flow, and then gave the elf a glare, though his expression quickly turned to exasperation when he tried to quiet him down.

"Look, I'm sorry if my brother's done something stupid, but I had nothing to do with that—"

"Oh didn't you?" The other elf snapped. Another elf trotted up beside him, eyes widening as he saw the blood running down Wren's shirt and on his hands.

The second elf gripped the first by his shoulder and jerked him backwards. "Come, he's not worth it."

Wren's attacker let loose a few more curses before finally hissing that Margaret should release his legs so that he could go. As she obliged him, her straightened up, indignant and turned to go, though he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Have fun with your rotting whore—"

Before Margaret could even conjure the magic to freeze him in his tracks and shatter one of his legs—she'd yet to see a healer who could mend _that_ sort of damage—Wren darted forward, swung low to the ground and kicked the man's feet out from under him and then launched himself on top of the elf and pinned him down, his knee against his attacker's chest.

He leaned down so that his blonde hair brushed across the man's face. "Say and do what you want to me, but don't ever bring an innocent lady into it again. Do we understand each other?"

The elf offered him a meek nod, and Wren hopped back to his feet, grumbling as he realized his shirt had been ruined.

"Well, aren't you the hero?"

Wren turned a wary gaze to see Mitchell already helping Margaret and the shop keeper pick up the fallen fruit. Wren reached out to grab one but stopped, seeing the blood still on his hands. He frowned and looked about for the cloth Margaret had given him. She set her fruit back in the crate and then conjured up some water and tugged out another bit of cloth. As she handed it to Wren, Mitchell sat back, slightly startled.

"That's not the cloth you promised me for the robes, is it?"

Margaret rolled her eyes and glared at him. "It has a better use at the moment, and you'll be fine with two less scraps. You know I always get you extra."

"Yeah, but…" Mitchell snapped his mouth shut and turned an icy glare toward Wren.

Margaret seemed oblivious, and Wren chose to ignore it, instead turning to apologize to the shop keeper, though she merely smiled and said that she'd just be sure to sell those fruits at a discount. Wren couldn't apologize enough.

As soon as they were finished, Margaret was at his side again, inspecting his nose. "I don't think it's broken, but we should probably swing by the shop, see if Whisper or Liila are there so they can heal you."

Mitchell trotted after them, glancing around to make sure the elves from earlier weren't anywhere to be seen before matching pace next to Wren. "That was so weird. What was that about?"

"I don't even know," Wren muttered, sniffing as he tried to breathe past the clotting blood. "My brother must have done something stupid again…" His voice trailed off and his usually pleasant demeanor shifted into a scowl. "He has a way of ruining things…and somehow, even if it has _nothing_ to do with _me_ , it comes back to haunt me. Does he ever suffer for his actions? No. But I do. I'd hoped that it wouldn't be so bad with an ocean between us, but…" He forced a smile as he sighed, exasperated. "I guess not."

As Margaret tried to offer him a word of comfort, Mitchell merely arched his eyebrows. "Sounds like you should go back to Silvermoon. I can port you if you want." When both Wren and Margaret gave him 'are you crazy' looks, he shrugged, trying to hide any desperation that might find its way into his voice. "I mean…family is really important. If I could go back and fix the bond between me and my mom, I totally would—"

"Your mother's a willing member of the Scourge who helped spread the plague," Margaret snapped.

Rolling his eyes, Mitchell gave her an a-duh look. "Doesn't mean I don't miss her." He tried to look sincere when he turned back toward Wren. "Think about it. Do you want to look back on your life and know that you and your brother never reconciled? What if you got news tomorrow that your brother was dead? Think how guilty you would feel. You should leave…for home. And stay as long as it takes to mend that relationship."

"Mitchell," Wren began slowly, not wanting to offend the young mage. "I'm sure your heart's in the right place, but there is no saving my relationship with my brother. He's gone too far too many times for me to ever forgive him. I do still love him, but he is pure evil."

"Then isn't it your moral _responsibility_ to keep him in line? Since you know, you're related by blood and all…." Mitchell cried out as Margaret jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

She rummaged through her bags quickly and then produced a bundle of cloth. "Here. Take this, and go make things. Leave Wren alone, okay?"

Mitchell readied a protest, but when Margaret gave him a stern look, he gripped the cloth and jerked it out of her hands. "Of course. Wouldn't want to make the little elf think he wasn't welcome…."

As Mitchell blinked to help hurry his exit, Wren turned a wide-eyed gaze toward Margaret. "What did I do to piss him off?"

Margaret shook her head. "You didn't do anything." When Wren didn't seem to believe her, she shrugged. "Mitchell just gets weird around other guys sometimes…maybe he has a man crush on you or something."

Wren arched his delicate eyebrows. "That is no man crush." As he spoke the last word, their last raid suddenly flashed to mind, and he remembered how every time his gaze had happened across the casters—be it during strategizing sessions or actual fights—Mitchell had always been standing near Margaret, laughing, joking, talking. By the nether, Mitchell had even darted in front of her to protect her from spells a few times. Wren sighed, relaxing enough for the pain in his nose to recapture his attention. As he cupped his hands around it, Margaret patted his arm.

"Don't worry about Mitchell, okay? He'll get over it." She looped arms with Wren and began to drag him toward Whisper's Vials. "Now then, let's get you fixed up."

~"~

"It just be a question, mon," Haa'aji muttered as he leaned across Ta'lim and Khai'rhi's table to steal food from Genji. The other three trolls frowned at him.

Genji slapped his hand away. "Ya just be messin' wit' us."

"Nah, mon, seriousleh," Haa'aji wagged a finger at them. "Tell me just one ting ya eva rememba doin' on a Tuesdah mornin'. One ting. _Nobodeh_ can eva rememba what dey be doin' on a Tuesdah mornin'. Neva."

The other trolls stopped as they considered that this was true. Last Tuesday morning was a blur. Surely there was something that had to have stood out for it. Finally, Khai'rhi shrugged. "Dey be slow mornin's. It be nothin' ta worreh ova."

Even as his sister spoke, Ta'lim furrowed his brow and scratched one of his tusks. "Ah tink Ah got me pet last Tuesdeh."

"Before noon?"

"Ah be sleepin' before noon." Ta'lim dismissed Haa'aji's triumph with the wave of a hand.

As Khai'rhi muttered something about Ta'lim being a degenerate, Haa'aji eyed the hunter. "What pet ya be gettin'?"

"A dragonhawk," Ta'lim said, grinning. He motioned over his shoulder in the direction of the stables. "He be a pretteh ting, all floweh like."

"What ya be, a damn elf?" Haa'aji teased, shoving his friend. "Ya give dis 'n a name?"

"Rapta," Ta'lim's enthusiasm vanished, and he stared forlornly down at his food. "Ah neva named me rapta before he got all toasteh." He shook off his sadness. "So Ah be honorin' him wit' a name."

As much as Khai'rhi wanted to comment that it was a stupid thing to name a dragonhawk, she held her tongue and made sure Haa'aji held his as well. She didn't need Ta'lim moping around. Her gaze slid toward Genji, and she frowned when she saw that he'd been watching her as well. He looked away quickly when he realized she'd seen him.

That damned mage. Ta'lim had invited him over for dinner again, despite Khai'rhi's protests. While Genji would have declined, Haa'aji had abruptly appeared from nowhere, invited himself along, and dragged the other two trolls back to Khai'rhi.

She had not been amused, though her anger was somewhat stifled when Haa'aji presented her with a rather delectable raw entree of vegetables to go with whatever meats she might be cooking. She hoped he hadn't stolen it, but knew it was pointless to ask him.

Khai'rhi and Genji were actually oddly grateful for the rogue's presence, for he easily carried any conversations in directions that avoided romance or family—aside from his own; on occasion he would lapse into memories of his good old Amani days, which always sparked irritation among his fellow trolls; if he missed his tribe so much, he ought to go home.

Genji didn't doubt that Haa'aji knew about what had happened between him and Khai'rhi. The rogue was a mite bit obsessed with knowing what was going on around him. He supposed that might have stemmed from having to hide from the Scourge for almost a year and needing to know if someone had seen him or suspected a living creature nearby.

As a result, if one needed to know anything, he was the troll to go to. This also meant that the guild's privacy was a sham. Genji had to hand it to Haa'aji. He didn't hold any secrets over anyone's heads. Anyone in the guild, at least. The mage had to wonder if his fellow troll was as virtuous to all living creatures. He doubted it. Regardless of how well Haa'aji could fit into society, his first and foremost priority was always himself.

Liila was the one thing that seemed to throw a kink in their understanding of him, though. Genji supposed it was because of their history.

Genji felt a shiver run down his spine and came back to his senses to see the rogue was watching him. His hands were clasped beneath his chin as he leaned on them, and Haa'aji was watching the mage as though he could see what thoughts were bouncing around inside his head. Genji frowned and fought back another shiver.

"Wat?"

"So de Alliance be takin' ca’a a Illidan. We got us a safe world again, mon."

"How can ya be sayin' dat afta what happened hea in de last week?" Ta'lim asked as he bit into a carrot, eyed it, and then dipped the rest in the marinating juices around the boar Khai'rhi had roasted. His sister hit his hand away, and the troll scowled.

"Dea still be de Lich King," Khai'rhi murmured. She hadn't ventured into the Plaguelands but once to aid Enlyhn in tracking down reagents to learn to summon his dreadsteed—which he never used—but that and seeing their forsaken allies was enough to convince her they needed to take the fight to Arthas sooner than later.

"Maybeh we let dem Alliance take him, too, yeh?" Haa'aji said offhandedly, abruptly picking at his food as though he'd lost his appetite.

"What de matta wit' ya?" Ta'lim eyed him. "Ya know sumtin' about de bastard we don't?"

Furrowing his brow, Haa'aji shook his head and looked back over the other trolls. Of the men, he was the only one who never wore face paint. While he claimed it would give his Amani ancestry away, Genji had offered a few times to teach him Darkspear markings. The rogue always managed to derail such conversations—and when he didn't, he just threw out offhanded comments hinting that he didn't think their paints would mix well with the thin layer of moss growing on his skin. Genji suspected Haa'aji's real reasons for not wanting to use paint were somehow tied into Amani prejudices against other troll tribes, not that the forest troll ever actually voiced any such thoughts….

Haa'aji scratched one of his ears slowly. "Nah, mon. Ah don't know nuttin' about de Lich King. Dat be why Ah don't wanna fight him. He be a su’prise, yeh?"

Ta'lim laughed it off. "Dea be nuttin' wrong wit' su’prises, mon."

"Oh, ya tink so?" Haa'aji leaned across the table. "Let's say we go ta fight him den. We get dea, 'n what ya tink happens?" When none of the trolls responded, he tapped the table. "He sees him some freed minions 'n focuses on dem. His whole will, on Blood 'n Leafless 'n Shadow 'n maybeh even de fo’saken."

Genji shook his head. "Shadow 'n de othas wouldn't succumb ta him again. Dey be free."

"Dey be free 'cause da Lich King spread himself too t'in. He controllin' moa 'n moa 'n so his grip slips on some. Ya realleh tink he couldn't get Shadow 'n de uddas back if he let his zombies roam free fa a few minutes 'n bent all his will toward dem instead?"

"Ya know what Ah tink?" Khai'rhi abruptly snapped. "Ah tink ya be tryin' ta cause guild drama, 'cause everehtin' been goin' so well." She shook her head and jerked Haa'aji's plate away from him. "Dat ya'd stoop so low as ta try ta get us ta mistrust Shadow, t'ough? Dat's just pathetic."

Instead of listening, Haa'aji was watching his plate move away from him with an unreadable expression. At length, he looked back at Khai'rhi. "Shadow be a main strategist, yeh? If he fall ta de Lich King again, how we gonna know? We lissen ta him 'n walk inta a trap."

Ta'lim had to concede that this was a legitimate concern. However, as he reached down to his plate, his fingers scraped against the table. Looking down, he saw the place in front of him was empty and turned slowly to see Haa'aji quietly munching on his food. He knew the damned creature was a rogue, but did he have to steal _everything_?

Khai'rhi shoved Haa'aji's plate over to Ta'lim, and her brother grudgingly accepted the secondhand meal.

The rest of their dinner passed by uneventfully. Near the end of the night, Haa'aji dismissed himself to head off to wherever it was that he slept—some joked that he never slept, only watched. Ta'lim walked him to the door and waved, though he cut the action short as a burly orc bumped into the rogue. The roads were so wide that it seemed odd to him, and when he saw Haa'aji had stopped in his tracks, Ta'lim trotted out to his guild mate, glancing back to see the orc had disappeared.

For a moment, he thought he saw a note in the rogue's hands, but in a blink it was gone. Ta'lim decided it couldn't have been real, for Haa'aji wasn't even wearing long sleeves, so what could he have hidden a slip of paper in?

He blinked when he realized Haa'aji had an eyebrow quirked. The rogue slung an arm around Ta'lim's shoulders, eyeing their surroundings suspiciously. "Not ta scare ya a nuttin', but Ah hea dea be sum shadeh people around Orgrimma at night, yeh? Ya should stay indoors, mon."

Then, without any further explanation, Haa'aji patted Ta'lim on the back and trotted off.

~"~

"Sethyl may have found someone who knew me before I was taken by the Scourge."

Haa'aji frowned as he heard Liila's voice. He'd figured she'd be at the shop, but didn't think she'd be entertaining…even if other people _were_ present. And to be talking about her past… As Timmons and Enlyhn walked ahead of him, Haa'aji couldn't help but feel a bit lost. 

He and Liila had been through hell together, and now she was moving on. She was going to return to her people eventually—he'd supposed he'd known that from the moment he found her lying in the woods in the Ghostlands as he'd tried to find an end to the undead's reach—and then where would he be? They were the two misfits of the Horde, and Haa'aji was fairly certain that having sole claim to such a title would be less than fun.

By the time he'd reached the door, Liila was still talking to the elves. He eyed them. Wren seemed to only have two emotions, panic and curiosity. Today he was sporting the latter. Sethyl however…Haa'aji didn't like him. He knew how the paladins got their power and couldn't help but wonder if the only reason the damned elf was growing more attracted to Liila was because he could feel her power…a power he might be inclined to steal for himself.

Not wanting to follow this train of thought and figuring that he'd kill the damned elf before he could hurt his fellow misfit, Haa'aji abruptly plastered a half grin to his face and sauntered into the shop.

"Me gods, mon! Liila be speakin' moa den two words at a time!"

Sethyl and Wren whirled around to see Haa'aji and the warlocks just inside the shop. Timmons strode past the confused elves to Liila, a smirk in place. "It's so cute that you actually talk to them now."

Liila glared at their forsaken companion and then slung herself over Timmons' shoulders as he turned to head toward the guild hall. Once upon a time, Haa'aji had said that the forsaken slouch made it look like they would break if they tried to carry anything with decent weight to it. As if to prove him wrong, Timmons had lifted Liila up, only to have the rogue emphasize 'decent weight'. Ever since, it was an ongoing joke that Liila was the heaviest thing the warlock could or would carry. Timmons stilled as Liila leaned her head against his and patted his hood. "Shall I say a prayer for you?"

"Do you want a third curse?"

Liila wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed to the side, tipping the warlock off his balance. "I think you like me too much to do that."

Timmons lightly gripped the rim of his hood as it threatened to pull back from his harasser's actions. He'd nearly fireballed Haa'aji in the face once for trying to remove the man's hood. Even in Tirisfal, Timmons had kept his face hidden. While patting down the hood proved that his skull was still intact and that he wasn't covering some horrible gash that left his brain exposed, none of them had ever been able to get the warlock to explain to them why he was so intent on not being seen. "Haa'aji. Control your woman."

Liila was probably the first lady that Haa'aji had ever treated even remotely near an equal, and they'd had a few arguments over his brash treatment of the female gender. While he knew Liila would never take offense to his idiocy, he also knew that it could make others incredibly uncomfortable, and he was pleased by Timmons' subtle invitation to play with the elves. Both looked as though they had no clue whether they should defend Liila or just stay out of it. Well, Wren looked that way. Sethyl looked ready to defend.

Haa'aji shrugged and slung and arm over each of their shoulders roughly, flattening a few of Sethyl's spikes on the back of his head as he did so. The two probably thought he was too large a creature to be gentle. He twitched as he felt something flick his ear. Was Liila still playing or was she telling him to be nice?

After a flung dagger and threats about revealing his void reaver's existence to the guild leaders, Haa'aji decided to re-rail their conversation.

"I'm not going to Silvermoon." Liila shrugged off their protests. "It would be like Timmons walking into Stormwind."

The others kept pushing, though Haa'aji nearly twitched when he realized that their paladin was watching him instead of Liila. This was why he hated Sethyl. Had he noticed that Haa'aji had fallen as silent as Liila normally was? While Haa'aji was Horde, he couldn't exactly just saunter into Silvermoon, where most all of the warriors had been trained to know what an Amani troll looked like. While he didn't doubt that he could escape from the glowy-eyed little bastards, he'd probably end up killing at least one and that wouldn't do well for public relations at all. If he ever went to Silvermoon, care and explanations would be needed.

"My home is here," Liila snapped before she could stop herself, and Haa'aji felt an inkling of victory in the back of his mind, though he ignored it, so as not to give Sethyl any clues as to what he was thinking. Let the elf figure it out on his own. Timmons merely laughed and tousled her hair before heading to the guild hall. Liila stilled for a long while, the way she always did when she was considering the pros and cons of a situation.

He understood her reservations. They'd been naive idiots when the elves had first joined the Horde. Whisper, Margaret and he had teased her about how she was going to be leaving them for some hunky elf who had been missing her for these last few years thinking she was dead. They'd all but thrown her to the elven ambassadors. At the time, none of them had really taken the time to learn much about the difference between blood elves and high elves.

It was lucky that a few guards were patrolling nearby, or the bastards would have seriously hurt her—since she couldn't stay dead, what with the curse and all. What kind of prick spits on someone who comes up asking if they could talk, anyway? Liila hadn't gone near any of the elves after that…until they were accepted into the guild.

Finally, Liila caved. Perhaps she figured the same thing Haa'aji did: elves were used to living a long time, so they had to be patient; if they didn't get what they wanted now, they'd just keep bugging her about it. "If you can get me an assurance that I will not be attacked…and make sure that a few of our guild mates can come along, I'll go with you."

Haa'aji frowned. He knew that he and Shadow were probably the 'few' she wanted. And Timmons. "Well, damn, wooman. Dat sound like it gonna be takin' time 'n Ah nah be havin' much a dat. Ah got business in Da’nasus 'n gonna be gone fa a decent while afta tomorra."

It had been what he'd been coming to tell her, anyway. Even as Sethyl tried to clarify about what he'd just said, Haa'aji noticed Liila looked disappointed. However, she shook it off, trotted over to him, and patted one of his tusks. "Be safe then. If you need anything before you leave, just swing back by."

Haa'aji nodded to her. He'd already swiped the potions he wanted from the shelves. At this point, she probably knew the sorts of things he'd taken. He sometimes wondered why she never told Whisper about his kleptomania. Did she just pay for it herself? He'd have to ask her one of these days.

~"~

Haa'aji had left everything in order. He'd set up the appropriate mail retrieval system; should any worthwhile jobs come in while he was gone, they would go to either Liila, Timmons, or Roberts, based on the job and the need for finesse. While Roberts could play the typical rogue, Timmons just fireballed everything to death. You'd think he'd use shadow or curses more, seeing as he was an affliction warlock, but Haa'aji didn't sweat the small stuff.

Aside from jobs, he'd done a round of threats to people he thought needed them as motivation, started a trade riot by shouting that Thrall was a socialist bastard who wasn't even an actual Azerothian and how he was going to lead the Horde into holding hands and singing with the Alliance in no time, and left Orgrimmar's and Undercity's warlocks in a coven war. It was a shame the night elves didn't have warlocks, or he could have done a cross faction one. As an Amani troll, he still wasn't too keen on messing with either the Darkspear or sin'dorei covens. Sure he'd stolen a few things from both, but he wasn't ready to plant them in other covens' territories.

Haa'aji sat in a large tree with purple leaves as he considered all that he had done. It was a good set up, and he doubted that he would miss anything important during the ensuing chaos. He hated being left out of things.

He almost used one of his daggers to pick something out of his teeth, but stopped as he remembered he'd already applied his poisons. What a damn waste. He glanced through the window again at the archdruid. Staghelm had seemed like an interesting target, but he'd have to let this one go. After all, with the crazy cult the elf was in, Haa'aji figured it would be better for the Horde if he kept this one alive. With luck, the nutty druid would destroy the Alliance from within.

However, that didn't really matter. Haa'aji had already decided he wouldn't go after the kaldorei, and he never changed his mind on such matters. His problem turned out to be the damn coven war he'd started. Neither Timmons nor Enlyhn were answering requests for summons, as they were too busy trying to screw each other over.

Haa'aji had brought just enough reagents and supplies to get him into Darnasus, but hadn't considered how he was getting out.

He glanced over his tree branch roost and watched a few diligent sentinels march by. Getting home was definitely going to suck.

~"~

"Ta'lim!"

The troll's ears perked up as he heard his name, and he turned just in time to dart out of the way as Genji's raptor skidded to a stop. The mage hopped off his mount and landed with a thud beside Ta'lim. They clasped hands briefly before Ta'lim's perked up, and he rummaged through a mail bag that was slung over his shoulder. At length, he pulled out four letters, but made sure that no one saw him hold them out to Genji, looking around suspiciously.

"Ya tink ya can take dese hea ta de guild leadas?"

"Mail fa Anonymous?" Genji grinned as he nodded and quickly pocketed the envelopes.

"Yeh, mon. T'ough Ah don't know what Ah gonna be doin' soon. Dey been noticin' dat de lettas seem ta disappea durin' me shifts, so Ah need ta lay low fa now, yeh?"

"Ya don't want de ladies t'rowin' demselves at ya fa bein' a hero?" Genji grinned, poking him in the ribs with an elbow.

Ta'lim frowned. "Dey watch me or ya…’nebodeh realleh, dey see who we be hangin' wit' 'n everehbodeh's privaceh go ta de netha."

"True dat," Genji murmured, considering what Whisper would do if people found out about them. If her mother found out…. He snapped from his thoughts as Ta'lim waved and went to resume his delivery route. "Lissen, mon. Ah got a fava ta ask, yeh?"

"Oh?" Ta'lim motioned for the mage to walk with him, and the two both trotted along, Genji leading his raptor.

"Ya tink…ya tink ya can find a friend ta stay wit' tonight?"

Ta'lim stopped in his tracks and eyed the mage with sudden suspicion. "Wat? Why?"

"Ah wanna talk ta ya sista. Privateleh." Genji glanced around, as though not wanting to make eye contact with Ta'lim. "Ya probableh noticed de tension between us de pas’ few weeks, yeh? Ah wanna clea de air."

Ta'lim eyed Genji for a long moment before abruptly shrugging. He _had_ caught on to it…he'd hoped it would just go away, but if a confrontation was needed…though he would like to be there to defend his sister if it got into a shouting match. "A'ight. Ah crash wit' Liila or somebodeh."

~"~

Ta'lim sniffed the salad in front of him suspiciously as he sat across from Liila and Lash. The latter had come over as well, when Gore had hinted that it would be nice to have some time alone with his wife once in a while. Liila had been accommodating enough, since they'd brought their own bed rolls with them. While Whisper would have normally been with them, she'd left on a visit to Thunder Bluff that morning and hadn't offered much on when she might be back. Margaret and Ta'lim had had a fight that morning, and she still wasn't speaking to him and had apparently holed herself up in Undercity.

As Ta'lim further inspected his meal, already having overcome his disappointment that there was no meat in it, Liila rolled her eyes. "I didn't make it; I picked it up on my way home."

Both he and Lash let out sighs of relief and relaxed, the troll scarfing down his food. Liila was such a good alchemist, but when it came to cooking… People had tried to tell her to look at it the same as she was concocting a potion, with proper proportions and all, but somehow things always went wrong.

Duskeh and Rapta were outside, mulling about the small fenced in area that the elf, Margaret, and Whisper claimed as their yard. Lash peered out the window to make sure Duskeh wasn't trying to maim Ta'lim's pet one last time before settling in to eat as well. While the two hunters chowed down, Liila satisfied her own hunger at a slower pace, savoring the crunch of the vegetables.

"You two should get a house together," Liila murmured. While she didn't mind them crashing, she figured that at least Gore and Sham were ready for the fledgling to leave the nest. Lash and Ta'lim eyed each other.

"Move in wit' us," Ta'lim muttered, pausing to inspect a slice of tomato. He couldn't name half of the things he was eating, though he knew they went good with different cuts from roasts.

"I already have a home."

"But we be needin' somebodeh ta clean 'n stuff," Ta'lim objected, though he hesitated as Liila's eyes flickered black momentarily. She was no one's maid.

"Then go out and find ladies who will take you," Liila shrugged. She leaned against the table and a smile flitted across her face. Ta'lim and Lash were the youngest members of the guild—along with Mitchell—and people often joked that the guild had spent so much time coddling them that they were never going to start their own families.

Lash rolled his eyes. "No point in settling down until the Lich King is dealt with."

Even as Ta'lim nodded, a small smile tugged at Liila's lips. "You say that now, but once he's gone, you'll find some other reason to need to hold off. And another and another. Before you know it, you'll be lonely old souls."

"We just hang out wit' ya 'n Haa'aji den," Ta'lim shrugged, though Lash hit his knee under the low table they sat at. As the hunters exchanged a look, Liila arched her long eyebrows.

"Haa'aji has a lady friend."

The two hunters eyed her, wondering if it was a joke or if she was being serious.

As an awkward silence settled over the table, Lash shifted his weight. "So, I hear the elves are trying to help you find your past?"

"They are," Liila murmured with a sigh. "They want me to meet them just inside Silvermoon next week. Apparently there's some…translocation orb in the ruins of Lordaeron? A teleportation device. Wren said it would be squared away by then. He just has to call in a few favors."

The silence threatened to return.

"So…Sethyl seems kinda taken wit' ya," Ta'lim teased, half hoping she might indicate whether she was actually taken. With her group, he could never tell which jokes were based in truth and which ones weren't. He'd heard on multiple occasions that Liila had a druid lover, though he'd also heard once that she had a dragon one.

Liila eyed Ta'lim for a long, quiet moment, as though what he'd said was news to her. Surely Margaret or Whisper had already harassed her about it, though. That's what ladies did, right? Gossip? "…You think?"

"Ya sholda seen how upset he been when ya wasn't dea fa de Sunwell raid, yeh?" Ta'lim nodded.

"He was, wasn't he?" Lash nodded, absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder. He'd pulled it while helping to restore Orgrimmar's bank's roof the day before. However, he didn't think he ought to waste healers' time with such an insignificant injury and had left it to get better on its own. If it still hurt in a week, he'd hit someone up to do something about it.

Liila swished her water around slowly. She'd been down this road before. People telling her that things were all sunshine and rainbows only to end up impaled on the end of a stick. "I see."

Both hunters cocked their heads. Ta'lim leaned toward her, not bothering to hide his interest. "Ya got sometin against him?"

Liila frowned. "It's nothing important…."

"Is it because he took your ring without telling you?" Lash offered.

Expression blanking, Liila shrugged her shoulders. "Like I said, it's nothing important." She motioned toward their plate,s and Lash pushed his toward her while Ta'lim gripped his protectively. Honestly, it was as though the troll were constantly being starved. Liila took Lash's plate from the table and came back after a moment, tossing him a toothpick. "Sethyl _is_ fun to play with, though."

Lash laughed. "Be careful, you go too far, and Gore will figure out you're going against his orders."

Liila stretched her arms over her head. "What's the point of a guild if you can't have a bit of fun with one another, hmm?"

Ta'lim flashed her a thumbs up and nodded, grinning. "True dat."

~"~

On the other side of town, Genji sat across from Khai'rhi during the longest, quietest half hour of his life. Sure, he'd gotten rid of Ta'lim, but that had just made things worse. At first, he'd thought Khai'rhi wouldn't even let him in, but she'd merely stalked away from the door, leaving it open, and he'd taken that as an invitation. She'd already eaten and made it clear that since Ta'lim wouldn't be home, she wouldn't be doing anymore housework for the evening.

It was well enough. Even so, she'd gone about ignoring him, fiddling with her guild stone and inspecting a few old scrolls documenting different totemic ideas. She and Sham were still working on new ones, and apparently they'd gotten Whisper involved to some extent, just before she'd had to go home to Thunder Bluff.

Finally, Genji couldn't take it anymore. "Wooman, ya just gonna ignore me de whole damn night?"

Khai'rhi didn't even look up. "Ya did de same damn ting ta meh fa t'ree months, so wat be ya point?"

Genji frowned. He hadn't ignored her, had he? "Ah was helpin' de guild gatha infa’mation."

"'n dat meant ya couldn't check ya damn stone? Ya ansa'd Haa'aji plenteh a times, but neva me." Khai'rhi set her scrolls to the side and glared at him, her eyes flickering red. Genji’s eye twitched despite himself. Damned rogue…of course he'd help fuel any guild drama that he could.

"Ah was scared."

"Scared? What ya tink Ah was, wonderin' whetha ya eva be comin' home a not?" Khai'rhi hissed. She wagged one of her fingers at him accusingly. "Ah taught ya hated me. Den ya come back like nuttin’ eva happened? It been insultin'!" Even as Genji readied to defend himself, Khai'rhi added, softer. "'n it hurt."

Before an awkward silence could descend, Khai'rhi rose to her feet and smoothed a few wrinkles out of her kilt. It was a typical, plain brown one, with small triangular patterns across it. She would have dressed a bit nicer if she'd known she was going to have company… Sham was right. Men _were_ stupid.

"It be gettin' late, so Ah tink ya can show yaself out."

She froze in place as two strong arms wrapped around her, and Genji's chin rested on her shoulder. "Ya be a real pain, yeh?" As she scoffed, he pulled her closer to him and leaned his head against hers. "Wooman, de onleh reason Ah fight so hard ta make de world a betta place be 'cause ya in it."


	18. Mitchell's Hope

The lead apothecary on duty stood next to Mitchell, a heavy frown in place. He pointed at the rotting sheep in the cage. "That animal is plagued."

"Yes, I can see that," Mitchell replied slowly.

The apothecary held up a small vial. "So why are you trying to plague it again?"

Glancing around for inspiration, Mitchell scratched the back of his head, making sure not to mess up his Mohawk. "Well...it's kind of complicated."

As Mitchell floundered, the apothecary held the vial up to what was left of his nose and sniffed it. "Is there liferoot in this?"

"Maybe?"

The apothecary's lips formed a thin line. "Are you trying to restore this creature to life?"

"What? No," Mitchell quickly denied the accusation. "That would be a waste of time and resources."

His superior was not buying it.

"Look." Mitchell slung an arm over the apothecary's shoulders and pulled him closer, despite the blatant look of disdain on his superior's face. "The humans are getting smarter about the plague, right?" Mitchell glanced at him, but began talking again as he saw the man was not in the mood for casual banter. "If we try to spread the plague with something like this sheep, they're gonna kill it before it gets close enough to do any damage. I'm working on a way to mimic life-like attributes. They won't see a dead sheep; they'll see a live one that somehow got out of its pen. They'll take it home and then BAM!" He released his superior and slapped his hands together. "The whole town's gone in a night."

Though the apothecary still seemed annoyed, his annoyed disposition had lessened. "Instead of trying to be brilliant, just work on making the plague's airborne and potent stages last longer, like everyone else."

Mitchell shrugged and nodded as the man stalked off, carrying his vial. He waited until the apothecary was out of sight of the experiments' cages before squatting down in front of the sheep again and pulling out a second small vial. He glanced over his shoulder one more time to make sure no one was watching before slowly pouring it on top of the sheep. "Help me out, yeah?" He whispered to the animal as he patted its head. "If we can get Margaret's heartbeat back, she'd be so happy."

Margaret and he had been in Orgrimmar, hanging out in the guild hall with a few others when the elves had come up as a topic of conversation. While Gregor was pleased that they hadn't caused nearly as much drama as people had feared they might—and that he'd heard was going on in a few other guilds—Margaret had made a joke about finally having eye candy. Ta'lim hadn't really been thinking and had muttered something about how he looked just fine and that if Margaret was too busy fawning over their little farstrider, she ought to be open about it, instead of trying to insinuate that all the ladies were happy to have Wren and Sethyl around.

Mitchell had never seen Margaret get so angry so quickly. She'd stalked off even as Ta'lim tried to apologize, who had in turn left because he felt annoyed that she had been so easily offended.

In truth, Mitchell had noticed her infatuation with Wren as well. However, it hadn't occurred to him that she felt trapped in her rotting body until he'd caught up to her in Undercity. He didn't like when she was upset and had followed her back, hoping to talk. Her usually cheerful demeanor was still in shambles, and she had slipped up and said, "What does he know? What good would it do me to love an elf...to love anyone when I'm like this?"

Even when Mitchell had tried to tell her that he thought she was perfect as she was—even the prettiest of things died eventually...and besides, she _was_ pretty, to him—she had dismissed him and all but demanded he leave her alone.

He'd felt hopelessly helpless until it had occurred to him. The reason so many forsaken felt lost was because they were dead. All he had to do was find a way to revive her. If he could take life, surely he could give it back, right? After all, he was a damn good apothecary.

While he couldn't remember the days right before his attempted suicide—all he really knew was that a bastard death knight had manipulated him into making the plague worse than it had originally been—he had a vague notion that he'd tried to cure the plague before and had run with it, thinking that perhaps his subconscious might remember what to do.

The contents of his vial began to seep through the sheep's wool, and he drummed his fingers against one of the bars as he waited, patiently, to see the results.

~"~

Mitchell stalked through the halls of the Undercity quickly, trying and failing to look inconspicuous.

"You there, stop."

Freezing as the dreadguard ordered it, Mitchell turned slowly toward him. "Yes?"

The guard sauntered up, eyeing him for a moment before motioning to the sheep under Mitchell's arm. "What are you doing with that?"

"My friend and I got into a fight," Mitchell shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I admit, I did things I shouldn't have. I'd...like to leave him somewhere away from any flight masters and then flee so that it'll take him a while to exact his revenge."

The dreadguard inspected the sheep for another moment, pausing as its head twitched awkwardly to the side for a moment, and then crossed his arms. "Who is it?"

"Huh?"

"Your friend. I'd like to look them up in the registrar, to make sure he's prone to violence and that you had a good reason for friendly fire."

"Timmons Burlaste," Mitchell said with a frown. Timmons was the only person he knew who most would probably agree deserved any sort of ill treatment. The sheep struggled to free itself from his arm as he spoke the name.

It worked.

The guard didn't need to look up that damnable warlock; half of the Undercity knew Timmons for the prick that he could be. He nodded to Mitchell, already losing interest, wished him well, and headed back along his patrol route.

Mitchell made it to the sewer lines without any more trouble and walked half way up the pipes, ignoring the hungering looks from a few abominations as he passed them, before he felt confident that no one was following him. With a quick cast, he patted the sheep and stepped through his portal to Thunder Bluff.

The mage hated the tauren capital. Namely because he didn't like heights, but the suspicious glares from the inhabitants didn't help much. Ignoring their attention, he wandered through the town, shakily crossing four bridges as he kept taking wrong turns. He really needed to come here more often.

Finally, he found his way—well, he got directions from a tauren woman who noticed how lost he looked and was suspicious of the sheep he was carrying—to a small tent. As he approached, he heard two women arguing.

"...don't know why I came home? I came home because you were ill, and I didn't want anything horrible to happen to you!" It was Whisper.

"I'm an old woman! Being ill is a part of life."

"Well, excuse me for caring!"

"I care too, you know," the older tauren snapped. Mitchell wondered if he ought to come back later, as Whisper's mother continued, "but I think it's high time you stop pining over a dead steer and put your head back in reality! I want grandchildren!"

"I can't help who I love!"

Mitchell decided Whisper would not be the person to turn to for help and sighed as he redirected his attention to the rest of the city. Where did Cloudless live again?

~"~

The forsaken sat across from another tauren as Cloudless went about making them all some tea. Mitchell had forgotten about Cloudless' life mate. Didn't any of his do-gooder guild mates live alone? He wanted to keep his experiments under wraps, and the more people who knew, the more likely Margaret might catch wind of what he was trying to do. He didn't want her to be mad at him...or to get her hopes up if he couldn't succeed twice.

The sheep lay on the ground beside him, contentedly chewing a few stalks of grass and staring dumbly around the room. It didn't seem to remember that only a few short hours ago it had been a rotting mess. It still had an occasional, odd twitch to it, though Mitchell supposed it was just a nerve that hadn't healed properly or something.

Cloudless' lover, a reddish colored tauren named Skybow—Mitchell was pretty sure that the steer was a hunter or brave or something...the mage failed at tauren culture quizzes—eyed the forsaken with open suspicion. He didn't trust the rotting corpse in front of him one bit, and it bothered him that Cloudless had on more than one occasion relied on such a creature to save his life.

At length, the awkward silence was broken as his guild mate sat back down and poured them each a cup of tea, though a tauren's cup was more like a giant mug for Mitchell. "So then, why are you lugging a farm animal around? If it's Alliance, just toss it off the nearest cliff. I won't tell Gregor."

Mitchell patted the sheep, and it turned to eye him, as though expecting him to take away its meal. "Ah, no. Fluffy isn't polymorphed."

Both tauren stared at him for a long, quiet moment. Finally, Cloudless arched an eyebrow. "You're...carrying an actual sheep? From the Undercity to Thunder Bluff."

"Well, I did take a portal." Mitchell fiddled with the hem of his sleeve.

Skybow eyed him. "Why did you bring us a sheep?"

"I was hoping, maybe," Mitchell glanced at Fluffy and then his cup of tea, his bony fingers already pulling the hem out of his robe. "I mean, if you don't want to, just say so, but...well, could you keep him?"

Both tauren stared at him blankly. Finally, Cloudless frowned. "Why do you want us to keep it?"

"Well, I mean," Mitchell glanced toward Skybow and fidgeted. He frowned as he realized the string from his seam was tangled around one of his fingers. "Could I talk to Cloudless alone?"

"No," Skybow responded before Cloudless could answer. "If we're keeping the sheep then that means I'm keeping it too. I want to know what I'm dealing with."

"Well, you have to keep quiet about it," Mitchell glared at him. "I mean, you can't mention this to anyone. Not even each other. If someone asks, it's just a sheep, okay?"

"What are we keeping quiet about?" Cloudless asked, growing exasperated. The mage could be so paranoid at times.

Mitchell eyed the walls of the tent before leaning toward the others and motioning for them to lean in as well. As Cloudless did and Skybow reluctantly obliged, Mitchell patted Fluffy again. "I unplagued him."

Both tauren froze. However, Mitchell didn't seem to notice. He ran a boney hand down his face. "I can't keep him in the Undercity. Anything living there—that isn't Horde—ends up in the labs, and I want to make sure that he's okay. That he doesn't, you know, regress."

Skybow pointed a finger at the sheep accusingly. "That thing could turn back into a rotting corpse and spread the its taint here?!"

"No! No, no, no, no, no!" Mitchell waved his hands frantically as he tried to keep the tauren quiet. "I wouldn't bring you a blight bomb!" He didn't notice as both seemed disconcerted that such a thing existed. "I sterilized the plague before I restored him! In case, you know, he did regress. I wouldn't want the plague to mutate into something beyond control."

Cloudless eyed the sheep, trying to believe what Mitchell was saying. "So... you've found a way to reverse the plague. The one that wiped out Lordaeron."

"Sort of?" Mitchell's shoulders slumped forward. "I didn't think I'd get it right on my first try, you know, since there've been some people working on it for years without any breakthroughs...so I kind of just threw some stuff together. I figured I would make notes and be more meticulous as I went. Besides, I have to be careful. If any notes about restoring life were found by the other apothecaries...." He stared at his untouched tea. "I'll need to experiment more to see if I can restore more animals...and then I'll have to try to restore humans."

Cloudless considered what the mage was saying. He would have to possibly torture living creatures to assure himself that he could undo the plague. It seemed like the only instance of necessary cruelty that the druid could think of. He hesitated. "Why are you doing this?"

Mitchell stared down at his hands. "So that Margaret doesn't have to be lonely anymore."

~"~

Mitchell whistled as he sauntered into Whisper's Vials, waved to Liila in passing, and then headed down the side hall to check their guild stores. While he knew a good part of them had been used to help replenish some of the potions upstairs, he hoped that there would be an ample supply of liferoot on hand. That was probably the one herb they didn't keep in high volume in the apothecary labs, and it would look suspicious if he went out to buy a lot of it. Sometimes he considered learning how to be an herbalist, but when would he have time to gather herbs? He was already so busy with alchemy, tailoring, and guild and Society matters.

As he stopped in front of the shelves used to hold the different herbs and began to read through the labels—he sort of wanted to take the whole damn shelving unit, but figured he'd be too swamped with finding a cure for the plague to make the necessary cloaks and robes to even out what he'd taken—a hand landed on his shoulder, and he was rather roughly spun around to face Gregor.

The old warrior was livid. "You son of a bitch!"

Mitchell's eyes almost widened enough to be seen behind the straps over them. He hadn't seen Gregor like this since before they'd joined the Horde. "What did I do?"

"Your fellow apothecaries are applauding your idea to make plagued creatures look normal," Gregor hissed as he shoved Mitchell into the shelves of herbs. "They're saying they could probably take out the whole of Stormwind if they could get such a thing to work. Just send a few zombies in looking like dazed farmers, and the human population would be all but extinct in a few days. Some people are even wondering if Orgrimmar was a dry run for you, since no one seems to know how so many ghouls got here so quickly!"

Mitchell held up his hands and protested against the last comment. Though...he had said something along those lines to his superior, hadn't he? He didn't think the man would actually run with it. Not that it concerned him much. "Look, I'm not..." He stopped himself. It would be better for his reputation at the Society if Gregor stayed angry at him. If he was suddenly cool with Mitchell experimenting on people, it would be too suspicious. After all, Gregor refused to even step foot in the Undercity, because he knew that in general the forsaken held such a low regard for human life.

Mitchell narrowed his eyes. Had that been why the apothecaries had mentioned it to the warrior? They were testing just where Mitchell stood? He frowned at his guild leader. "You know I don't talk to you about my work for the Society."

Gregor jerked back his fist and punched the mage. As Mitchell stood hunched over and reeling from the blow, his guild leader leaned down to whisper into his ear. "If my children die because of you, I will make you regret every choice you've ever made."

With that, Gregor stormed off.

~"~

Though Mitchell was loathe to do it, he had gone back to the Undercity and 'resumed' his studies for the Society. In truth, he'd done all that he could to get in on the experiments following his plan. He couldn't very well go around saving Margaret if Gregor killed him.

As a result, he'd decided to sabotage every experiment until the others gave up. They were supposed to be working on boring things, anyway. This was probably just a fad that would die out in a few days with no luck.

Well, except that they were already making progress.

It took a great deal of work, but Mitchell managed to do it. He cut off his guild stone so that his guild mates would know to leave him be and dove into his 'work'. Only when the other apothecaries’ enthusiasm had begun to wane, seeing that they couldn't get any combination of ingredients to cover all the symptoms of the plague—this one made their eyes turn gray and oozed, and that one made their eyes look normal, but the flesh still rotted—did Mitchell bother to turn his guild stone back on.

His stone had barely been on for an hour when he felt a chin rest on one of his boney shoulders. "How goes the plague?"

Mitchell at first worried that it had been one of his superiors, and the tips of his fingers had been burning with sparks for fire when he'd heard Margaret's voice. His magic dissipated, and he turned his head so that he could see his visitor. "Huh?"

She pointed a sickly finger toward the vials in front of him. "How goes your experiments?"

Staring down at the vials, he frowned and shrugged his free shoulder. "I had this stupid idea...well, brilliant really. In theory. In practice it's just not working out."

"Well, if anyone can figure it out, I'm sure you can," Margaret patted his shoulder and peered back at his work. She reached out as though to pick up one of the vials but seemed to think better of it and let her arm drop back to her side. The two stood in an awkward silence for a moment before she rocked on her feet. "So... I guess it's something a non apothecary probably can't help with, huh?"

Mitchell scratched the back of his head slowly. "Well, not really..." he paused as he considered if he ought to ask her to start stockpiling supplies for his personal experiments, but quickly decided against it. If she helped him, she'd want to know what she was doing it for, and that had the potential for ruining the surprise and possibly their relationship. What would she think of him if she found out he was trying to cure the plague? That he was delusional? Would she dismiss it as him being 'a kid'? He was twenty-one by now, dammit. Would she pity him and think him overly innocent?

Would she hate him for trying to bring her hope?

"Well," Margaret brushed her fingers over the fabric of her robe, frowning as she noticed that the hem near her belt was coming loose. "I suppose I should head out. Wouldn't want to be responsible for slowing down the Society's work, now would I?"

Before Mitchell could even offer to fix her robe, she waved to him and trotted off out of the labs. The young mage watched her go for a moment before turning back to look down at his latest batch of successfully failed work.

However, before he could move to toss it, he realized that he was being watched and slowly turned to see that every other apothecary was staring at him. He glanced around, a terror that they were on to him boiling in his stomach. At length one of the nearer ones arched a fetid eyebrow.

"Really?"

He felt another one sling an arm over his shoulders, and he looked toward him warily. The senior apothecary frowned down at him. "You do know you're dead, yes?"

When Mitchell gave him a 'no duh' look, the first man to speak cackled. "Yet you allow yourself such frivolities as love?"

"What?" Mitchell's expression blanked. "I'm not—"

"I pity you," the second man said, releasing his shoulders and patting Mitchell on the back. "You'll wake up to reality soon enough, though."

"You'd think he already would have...it's been four years...."

Mitchell ground his teeth slowly as he stared pointedly at his fizzing vials, trying to ignore the smug laughter and bitter, snide remarks of the others as they went back to work. He wasn't in love. No forsaken in their right mind would be stupid enough to think such an emotion stood a chance against death.

Though...if he could get a cure to work....

~"~

Mitchell had to concede that he was fighting a losing battle. He needed to be able to gather different plagued creatures to cure, and he was going to spend the next year at least trying to thwart any advances in the Society's mission. Further, the other apothecaries were going to notice that their experiments did substantially worse when he was around, and that wouldn't be good for him.

Thus, he did the only thing he could do.

He'd set a few highly flammable concoctions next to the Society's only fire mage and pissed him off. The resulting explosion was enough to close the lab down for a good, long while. Though a few of the apothecaries suggested moving their experiments to Tarren Mill, their supervisor had told them to stop with such foolishness, namely because Sylvanas was probably going to kill _him_ for the new hole in the walkway leading to her throne room.

Content that, at least for now, he'd put a halt on the research, Mitchell swiped a few supplies he hoped would be written off as lost in the explosion and headed off to go about his own experiments.

~"~

Timmons sat on top of a wall in the Magic Quarter of Undercity, flipping through his spellbook absentmindedly as a few senior warlocks walked an initiate through what he was going to have to do to summon and subdue his very own succubus. The fool already had the hearts of good, honest men, and he was nodding with false bravado as his imp shivered near his feet.

Timmons marked his page and set his book in his lap. He loved watching the newer warlocks try to tame their pets. So many of them failed and met such miserable fates. He was fairly certain that if he were capable, he would get that warm fuzzy sensation in his chest every time one of them fell, screaming, to their targets.

However, even with the young warlock quickly succumbing to the succubus's thrall and having to be put down by his superiors, Timmons couldn't even crack a smile. He couldn't stop thinking about Haa'aji's warning to Sethyl.

Of course that worthless troll had waited to threaten Sethyl until Timmons was coming up to ask about Liila's ring. Haa'aji was always pulling this sort of shit. Timmons would want to speak to Liila about something like helping him get the reagents for his dreadsteed, and as soon as he started to ask, Haa'aji would be there, asking Liila to help _him_. Really, the only time Timmons ever got to spend any time with Liila without that moronic troll was when Haa'aji was out of town. He'd made the mistake of trying to put a hit out on someone once, just to get rid of the damnable rogue, and he'd come home—well, to his little nook in Undercity where he studied when he didn't feel like being bothered—to find Haa'aji waiting for him, smug and annoying as ever.

Besides, no one cared if Liila wanted to have a thing with some pitiful paladin. Just like no one really cared if she had a lover in Silithus or whatever other stories Haa'aji came up with. It's not like any of them were ever true. Liila was too messed up in the head to have a steady man, anyway. Months of torture did that to a person.

And to imply that Liila would want anything to do with a sin'dorei was foolish, really. She'd heard those tales of paladins storming through the Scourge infested lands to save their comrades in arms, and it had left her horribly bitter. How had they found the time and resources to save them and not her? Had she not been good enough to save?

While the guild had banned her from drinking, namely because she actually had a temper when drunk, Timmons enjoyed getting her alone and wasted. She became so animated when she ranted about how stupid the elves were or how she thought the light was cruel to have left so many to suffer or the dozens of other thoughts that she was normally too reserved to say when she was sober.

If only that wretched heart of hers would stop beating, she'd be the perfect woman.

A chill ran down Timmons' spine as the thought, originally merely a jest, made him feel uneasy. He killed creatures for fun, manipulated and blackmailed people to do things when he couldn't use force, and yet the thought of Liila undead, or simply dead for that matter....

Haa'aji would have a field day if he ever heard about such thoughts.

Timmons glared down at the next initiate, who was even more of a novice than the last one, just coming to learn to bind an imp to him. Such was his anger channeled that the young corpse below felt his gaze and looked up, blinking his glowing eyes at the dark figure leering down at him.

One of the elder warlocks noticed Timmons as well and frowned. "Mr. Burlaste. Would you kindly stop distracting the recruits—"

Before the man could finish his sentence, the novice interrupted, pointing a boney finger up toward the hooded warlock. "You're Timmons Burlaste?"

"The one and only," Timmons murmured, his frown already dipping deeper. Something about the way the young man had named him...it hadn't been accompanied by the appropriate fearful undertones. His mood worsened as, upon confirming the young undead's question, the novice smirked.

"I hear you're all talk."

While their superior could have easily countered with dozens of tales of how Timmons was an accomplished and loathsome creature, he instead chose to sit back and enjoy the show, imagining that, if he could see the upper half of the cocky bastard's face, Timmons' eye would be twitching in disbelief.

Slipping from his perch, Timmons sauntered up to his challenger, his robes rustling around him as though whispering warnings of the power hidden beneath his plain appearance. While the recruit seemed slightly unnerved to be standing in front of one of the world's crueler modern legends—at least as far as Undercity gossip went, anyway—he forced his smile to stay in place as he tried to look down his nose at the intimidating creature in front of him. Timmons was unmoved by the display.

"You think I am all talk?"

The novice's smile slipped. "I...well, what kind of mighty warlock gets sheeped, hmm?"

Timmons' head tilted to the side slowly as he appraised the meek sack of bones in front of him. "I suppose, in a sense, I am all talk, aren't I?" Even as the pitiful creature in front of him began to take a step back, not liking Timmons' tone, the warlock's lips slowly spread into a harsh smile. "Though...aren't all warlocks?"

With a word, the novice's robes were on fire, and he was screaming and flailing, trying desperately to extinguish the flames nipping at what was left of his nerves.

The senior warlock watched the trainee with a look of mild apathy, arms crossed. "We'll say the imp got the best of him, if anyone asks."

"Pity nothing better has crawled out of a grave lately," Timmons murmured as the recruit finally fell to the ground near a passing mage. The woman looked down at the smoldering mass of rotting flesh near her feet and then toward the other warlocks, all of whom merely shrugged and resumed their business. With a sigh, she threw a frost spell on the still flaming corpse, to make sure the fire wouldn't spread, and headed on her way.

"Indeed."

Just as Timmons turned to go check the auction houses, seeing as he'd been ordered to leave the newcomers be, he paused, his mind replaying his most recent conversation. "What's this about getting sheeped?"

The other warlock let out a rasping cackle. "Oh? You haven't heard?"

~"~

Mitchell was baffled. If it was this easy, why hadn't someone else figured out how to restore the forsaken to their former existences? Sure, after that first fluke, it had taken him nearly seventeen tries to get it right again, but the snake he'd just unplagued stared up at him as it flicked its tongue out several times.

So far as he could tell it was as healthy as any living snake. Mitchell poked it once, only to jerk his hand back when the creature snapped at him. He frowned and watched it slither away. He supposed he ought to keep it, to make sure there were no strange side effects, but that was what Fluffy was for, right? And Cloudless would send him a message if something weird started happening with Fluffy....

He stirred the bubbling cauldron of his work absentmindedly as he watched the creature disappear around the corner of a building. Considering proportions and the like, he figured that it would be enough to test on a few more animals and—if it still worked—give to a forsaken or two to try out.

It turned out that it needed a direct increase in the proportion of liferoot in correlation with the size of the patient. The length of time the creature had been plagued seemed to have a minor effect on its effectiveness, as well, hence Mitchell had gone out and located what he guessed to be some of the original creatures to have succumbed to the plague. There wasn't much left of them.

Upon trying it out on a mostly skeletal bat, Mitchell had realized that it was a bad, bad, bad idea. If he had given it to Margaret, she would have come back to life, sure, but with all her missing parts still missing. The sheep hadn't really lost anything yet, nor had the snake.

Mitchell had fiddled with the concoction until he was able to successfully merge it with a healing potion. His next attempt to revive a bear with half of his brain exposed proved quite successful, though he had to admit reservations to the thought of ever trying it out himself, as the experience of becoming one of the living seemed quite painful on the creature. The creature also exhibited hints that it at least had been plagued at some point, with oddly discolored patches of fur and a strange twitch on one side of its face, where its skin had fallen off. Mitchell couldn't help but wonder how much of the plague had actually been cured.

While he would have loved to study it, he had to put the bear down when it quickly succumbed to hunger and tried to eat him. He supposed it worked out well enough, though, as he got to dissect the bear to check for internal discrepancies with the healing to its flesh.

The autopsy had left him rather puzzled. While it looked like the bear had been cured, certain organs just seemed...off. The heart remained somewhat shriveled, the tendons seemed unusually durable, and many of the organs were discolored, though they showed the basic properties of life that he'd been hoping for.

He mapped out a few alterations on his concoction to try and kept his notes on his person, thinking that once he'd made some more progress, he'd take a break and go to Booty Bay to hide his research in a neutral bank.

Content that he was making progress, though it did disappoint him that it'd probably be a few months at least before he could get anywhere near a point of experimenting on forsaken, he began to bottle his concoction, thinking to keep what he had as a reference point, should something happen to his notes. He spent almost two days carefully hiding vials throughout the ruins of Lordaeron and packing more into crates to be shipped off to remote, hopefully safe, obscure parts of the world that no one would think to search, should his experiments come to light.

Just as he was about halfway through the cauldron, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He barely had time to see Timmons' angry sneer before he panicked and threw the potion in his hand in the warlock's face, thinking to flee while the forsaken tried to get the liquid out of his eyes.

Even as Mitchell realized what he’d done and his jaw dropped, Timmons arched an eyebrow. Slowly, the warlock wiped at his face, though he was somewhat puzzled to find that his hand came away dry, the liquid having already seeped into his skin. He pushed his confusion from his mind and stayed on task, his anger returning twice over.

"Tell me something."

Mitchell shifted his weight uncomfortably. Why wasn't anything happening? Should he be happy or disappointed that it seemed ineffective on humanoids? "Yes?"

"Why is there a rumor going around that a mage from the Royal Apothecary Society sheeped me?"

Mitchell cursed under his breath. Why were all of his lies coming back to bite him in the ass? He shrugged, trying to brush it off. "It was a joke, really."

"A joke." Timmons's frown deepened. "You've damaged my reputation for the sake of a joke? Do tell the punch line."

As Mitchell eyed the furious 'lock, it became obvious that he was about to get his ass handed to him. Flames danced along Timmons' fingertips, and Mitchell responded to imminent danger the way he always did.

He panicked.

It wasn't until he saw the black sheep at his feet, chewing angrily on his robes that he realized he'd made a second, possibly dumber mistake than the first. He bit his lip.

Well, the rumor was true now.

However, now he really did need to get rid of Timmons for a while.... He cried out when the sheeped warlock tried to gnaw off one of his exposed toes. Even as he hopped away, with Timmons angrily charging at his knees—nothing a blink couldn't save him from, though each escape was just adding fuel to Timmons' disdain for the mage—he realized he had to act fast, before the spell wore off.

Mitchell dodged another sheep attack, flipped through his spell book, made a portal, caught his guild mate, and, while Timmons' kicked and snapped at Mitchell's hands, tossed the warlock to another part of the world. The portal vanished, and he sighed in relief, no longer able to hear the angry bleats of his guild mate.

And then he felt someone's chin on his shoulder and went rigid.

"I don't recognize that one," Margaret said, still hanging over him. "Where'd you send him?"

"Stromgarde."

Roberts let out a low whistle, stepping up on Mitchell's other side. "Didn't know there was a port for that old city."

Mitchell shrugged, though he was careful not to jostle Margaret. "I found an old tome when we were questing there, back in the day." He glanced at the mage beside him. "If you want, I can show you the spell."

With a smile, Margaret stepped away from him, turning to eye the cauldron. "I'm good. I don't foresee myself needing to go there any time soon."

Mitchell watched her, feeling uneasy for her to be so close to his work. After all, it wasn't perfected yet. He suddenly frowned as he realized his first forsaken test subject was now not only roaming the Arathi countryside, but also probably forming a rather hellish grudge against him. He shifted his weight uneasily. "I... thought you went back to Orgrimmar."

Margaret shrugged. "I was thinking about it, but Roberts noticed Timmons asking around for you, and we thought we'd play damage control if need be."

"I might need you to later," Mitchell tried to joke, though he already felt like the air was filling with curses the warlock was probably sending his way. Good thing mages could remove those.

Roberts was eyeing the cauldron as well. The death stalker walked half way around it. "I thought all experiments were on hold until the laboratory was fixed."

Mitchell leaned over his concoction, blocking it from their view with his body. "This is...secret. The others don't know about it."

Roberts arched an eyebrow and ran his fingers over his bald head slowly. "The Dark Lady doesn't like Society resources being wasted on recreational dabbling."

As Mitchell gave Roberts a pleading look, Margaret leaned over and hugged her fellow mage's shoulders. "Leave him be Roberts. He promises he won't do it again, right?"

Mitchell eyed her for a moment before nodding slowly. He could gather his own reagents. Perhaps he could work out of Orgrimmar...though Gore probably wouldn't trust his work, either. He'd find somewhere.

Roberts seemed skeptical. "What is it? That thing that masks death?"

"Not quite," Mitchell said, not wanting the death stalker to go to the Society with any rumors. Mitchell was never completely sure where Roberts' loyalties stood. Would he side with a guild mate over the Banshee Queen? It wasn't really something he wanted to find out. He looked around slowly before frowning. "It's just...I promise I won't waste any more Society resources on it. Please don't tell anyone." He straightened up slowly. "I promise you, if it's a success, I'll let you in on it. If not, it won't even be worth mentioning."

"Alright," Roberts nodded reluctantly as both mages gave him pitiful looks. "Just...don't steal from our Lady again."


	19. Love Fools

Twist Amberleaf dodged past a few braves and an oddly spastic forsaken mage toting a sheep with him as she stumbled to a stop in front of a tent she hadn't been to in ages. Ever since Whisper had headed to Orgrimmar, the two barely ever saw one another. Not to say they didn't keep in touch; the two constantly sent letters back and forth, though Whisper always seemed to avoid talking about her love life. Twist knew she was still hurting from the loss of her fiancé, Shadow Rain.

If true love had ever existed, it had been between those two. When they were all children, none of them older than ten, Shadow had told Whisper that he was going to marry her one day and that they'd live happily ever after. They probably would have, too, if he hadn't volunteered to go with a few other druids to investigate the Plaguelands.

Whisper had begged him to stay with her, but he felt he couldn't leave any part of the world to suffer through unnatural means. Ever true to the druid code.

Twist had thought Whisper might kill herself when she got word that he'd been slain. It had been a long, hellish few months waiting for Whisper to slowly come out of her shell. At first she refused to eat, would wake up sobbing...prior to those months, Twist had thought that being lovesick was just something made up by human poets.

However, after Whisper had moved to Orgrimmar, things had begun to change. She'd helped start a guild, a decent one from the sounds of it, and Twist suspected that her friend might have even found herself a steer. Twist's questions about any new romance in Whisper's life were always left unanswered.

Just as she ran her fingers through her mane to make it look like she hadn't leapt on the opportunity to see her old friend, the tent flap to the Windsong house flipped open, and Whisper stormed out.

She froze when she saw Twist. However, before Twist could snap out of her surprise to say hello, Whisper grabbed her hand and stormed off with her in tow. She didn't stop walking until they'd taken an elevator down and sat at the base of the bluffs.

Whisper cursed to herself quietly, and Twist waited for her friend to gather herself rather than prodding her with questions.

Whisper was frustrated with life. Everyone was telling her things she already knew. That bitch Leafless had cornered her in her own damn shop and told her that she shouldn't be leading Shadow on any longer when they all knew nothing could ever happen between the two of them. Then, just as she was getting over it and actually considering that the worthless creature might be right, she'd received word that her mother was ill.

Ill was one word for it. By the time Whisper got to Thunder Bluff—which hadn't taken long at all, considering she'd just left Sham in charge of her shop and hunted Genji down for a portal—her mother was feeling just dandy and was happy to introduce her to a handsome young brave who was what any eligible young lady would want.

And then she'd had the audacity to be angry with Whisper?

Whisper screamed and jerked tufts of grass up and threw them back at the ground. As the blades fluttered to the earth, she looked over at Twist. "Why does everyone have to tell me how to live my life?"

"Because they're too miserable in their own," Twist tried to joke.

However, Whisper seemed to take her seriously, frowning toward her hooves as her anger abruptly wavered to depression. "Do you know Sunless Plainstrider?"

Twist thought for a moment before shrugging. "I've heard the name Plainstrider before..." As she searched her memory, she ran her fingers through the tuft of hair at the end of her tail. "Oh! Redsky Plainstrider is the one I know. He's a druid—" Twist sucked in a sharp breath, unsure if Whisper would be alright to talk about druids when she was already as upset as she was.

Whisper didn't seem fazed by it, however. "Perhaps they're brothers. Mother sent word to Orgrimmar that she was sick just to get me to come home to meet Sunless."

"I'm sure she meant well," Twist offered, reaching out and patting one of Whisper's knees. "After all, you're her daughter. She just wants you to be happy."

"I am!" Whisper cried out and then abruptly snapped her mouth shut as tears beaded her eyelashes, threatening to mat the fur nearest her eyes. "Or...I thought I was."

"What happened?"

"Shadow came back," Whisper said, her voice so low it was nearly lost to the wind.

"What?" Twist nearly jerked to her feet. "That's wonderful!" She tugged on Whisper's hand. "We should tell your mother! She'll stop trying to play matchmaker if—"

"He's dead," Whisper muttered. As Twist gave her a confused look, Whisper heaved a sigh. "He's undead. A death knight."

~"~

Leafless walked past Whisper's Vials for the nth time. Still closed. Honestly, wasn't Whisper going a little overboard, sulking for almost an entire day? She'd come by to apologize for snapping at Whisper when the tauren normally opened shop. Then, she'd come by again about twenty minutes later, thinking perhaps Whisper was running late. Then again and again and...

Shouldn't someone else have at least come to open up by now?

In truth, Sham had been responsible for opening the shop that morning, but she'd seen Leafless, looking rather dark—the trees nearest her were literally withering from her anger—and she'd headed home. It wasn't that Sham was afraid of the death knight, but rather that she had seen how Leafless grilled some of their guild mates when buying her potions—"Does this have exactly the right blend of herbs in it? The color looks off..." or "Why are there so few of these stocked today? I need at least twenty and you don't even have four? Why would you run out of things you know we use…"

After the last fiasco with Timmons, Sham wasn't in the mood to put up with any annoyances because of the shop. To help, Whisper had left her a note detailing some of the more important potions and what to answer for standard questions, and Sham had hoped that that would be enough to sate Leafless' scrutiny. However, before she could locate the list, she'd received a rather distracting visit which had left any thoughts of the shop quite forgotten.

Leafless frowned and decided to go hunt down anyone who might know where Whisper was. Her first stop, of course, being Whisper’s house. She didn't bother to ask why it was Lash who opened the door. Instead, she crossed her arms pointedly.

"I need to speak to Whisper."

The orc eyed her. Of all the guild members, Leafless was the most antisocial of them, and Lash only knew the vague rumors about relationship troubles among the tauren in her regards. He shrugged and yawned. "She's not here."

"Where is she?" Leafless snapped, her patience already spent.

Liila trotted up beside him and cocked her head. "You're looking for Whisper?" When the death knight snapped an affirmative, Liila shrugged apologetically. "She went back to Thunder Bluff to see her mother. Said it was urgent and she wouldn't be back for a while."

Leafless scowled. Since her unlife, she'd never once gone back to Thunder Bluff. She knew far too many people there, and she dreaded them seeing her as the abomination that she was. She considered her guild stone, but didn't want to settle things unless it was face to face. She'd been upset and had said things she didn't mean...well, things she didn't mean to say out loud.

It was true enough though, wasn't it? Whisper and Shadow would never be together, with Shadow having lost his heartbeat, and it was pointless for them to waste the rest of Whisper's life pining away. Shadow would live forever, quite possibly, so long after Whisper was gone, he'd be missing her. But maybe, just maybe, after enough time had passed....

Leafless had already decided that she could wait. She knew she would never be the one Shadow truly loved, but she was fine with that. So long as she could stay near him. It was just...she didn't hate Whisper. The shaman was wasting her life longing for her lost love. If she could move on, stop hurting, then Shadow could stop hurting, too. At least, that's what Leafless had thought. And that'd been was she was trying to get across to Whisper when the damnable tauren had jumped on her for trying to help.

She wanted to apologize and to get everything out in the open. Leafless was tired of conversations dying when she entered a room or people seeming to choose between whether they wanted to talk to her or Whisper. She doubted most of the guild knew that they did it, but they did.

And most all of them chose their fellow breather.

Liila reached out and touched Leafless' arm and the tauren jerked away from her. "If you see her, tell her I want to talk."

~"~

Shadow peered through the window of Whisper's Vials, hoping that maybe someone had just closed down temporarily so that they could work on a large order in the back. However, it didn't look as though anyone had been in there yet today. He leaned back as a few grunts wandered up, frowning to see the shop was closed. One of them eyed the death knight before coughing into his hand to get Shadow's attention.

"Not anymore trouble, I hope?"

"I'm sure Whisper's just sick or that someone forgot their shift," Shadow sighed, crossing his arms as he squinted through the window one last time. The grunts nodded warily—since the attack on Orgrimmar, Shadow had found that he and his fellow death knights were under scrutiny all over again. The grunts assured him that they would make sure to remember to check in on the shop later in the day, to make sure no one took advantage of the absence of whoever was supposed to tend the merchandise.

While it would take a fool to steal from Whisper's Vials, people still tried to every so often. Some rogues did a mock hazing of new members by telling them to try to bring them a certain vial from in the shop. Haa'aji always seemed to show up whenever the novices went to complete their initiation, however, and so far no one had managed to retrieve so much as a flask stopper from the store.

Shadow lumbered through the streets aimlessly. Neither Enlyhn nor Timmons had been in their usual haunts and with the shop closed, he didn't really know who was available and whose day he might be crashing by showing up.

It felt like, now that the threats of Outland had been dealt with, it was time to strike against Northrend, though Horde forces—and Alliance ones, from what he'd heard back at Acherus—were moving along at a sluggish pace in their preparations to enter the snowy hell. Sometimes Shadow felt the only way he'd actually move the Horde into action was if he raised the whole damn lot of them as ghouls and set them after Arthas.

He made sure not to voice such opinions to anyone, though he was sure Blood would have found the humor in it.

Thus, he considered himself lucky when he saw Cloudless riding down the street in his direction. However, as soon as he'd greeted his fellow tauren, he found that his good mood was not reciprocated. Even as Shadow tried to ask about the sheep riding in front of the druid on his kodo, Cloudless merely asked him if he'd buy him a drink in exchange for a sob story.

Once Shadow, Cloudless, and Fluffy had taken refuge at the nearest tavern, as close to a quiet corner as they could get, Cloudless slumped forward and let his head fall into his hands. Shadow's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Skybow and I were together for almost ten years, you know?" Cloudless murmured into his palms before letting his hands drop back to the table and leaning back in his chair. "About a week ago, Mitchell came to see me—"

"In Thunder Bluff?" Shadow arched his eyebrows. The mage got squeamish on second story balconies, so he was surprised he'd even consider going to the tauren capital.

"Yes," Cloudless seemed irritated that Shadow was getting hung up on the details. "He wanted me to look after his pet, Fluffy. I thought he had good reasons, so I said I would, and he left."

Shadow eyed the sheep beside him, and debated whether he ought to poke it with his mace. Cloudless noticed and patted the little creature gently, even as one of its eyes twitched and looked like it gleamed red for a moment. "It's not polymorphed. That was what I thought at first, too. He's just a sheep, though."

Shadow started to ask why Mitchell had a real sheep and why he was having someone else look after it, when the waitress finally came by with their ales. Cloudless downed his in a single gulp, and Shadow pushed his toward the depressed druid. He downed that one just as quickly, and Shadow called for two more. It took a lot more than a few orcish brews to get a tauren inebriated. "So Mitchell asked you to keep the sheep, and you said yes."

"Right," Cloudless muttered, frowning at the patterns and slightly warped look of the wood in their table. "Skybow was so angry when I told him it wasn't a big deal to look after an animal, that we'd watched his sister's songbird for nearly a month before. Hell, we'd watched her children from time to time. A sheep didn't seem like that much work. And he hasn't been," Cloudless added, bitter.

Shadow nodded.

"Well, that wasn't the problem, apparently. I guess if it'd been some random stranger asking us to look after their farm animal, that would have been fine, but not a guild member. I tried to explain to him that a guild—well, our guild—is sort of like a second family, but he just scoffed. He said that my whole life revolved around Impervious. Impervious was my family, and he was just something I came home to when I wanted a good lay."

"Wow," Shadow whistled, trying not to fidget uncomfortably. He didn't have a problem with homosexuality, but he wasn't comfortable thinking about any of his guild mates having sex. Despite everything, he was a modest steer, and those were images that did not easily leave the mind. He hadn't been able to look at Enlyhn for a week after he'd walked in on the warlock once. In the guild hall, no less. Shortly after that, Gore and Gregor had passed a strict, no sex on guild grounds policy, to which most everyone was thankful.

"Skybow..." Cloudless trailed off to down his third and fourth drinks. "I told him that wasn't true, and he asked if I was seeing anyone else. I said no. He said that it didn't matter. I might as well be having an affair for all the time I spent with him. He said the last three years had been miserable, but that he kept telling himself that I was out saving the world and that someday I'd come home to stay." He slumped against the table again.

"I knew we were having problems, but things were getting better, I thought. I tried not to talk about the guild too much when I went home and to get back into the swing of things in Thunder Bluff, but it's so...slow paced there. I was restless. I was thinking about trekking out to see if any odd jobs needed to be done...have a bit of an adventure, but when I'd mentioned it to Skybow, he'd gotten so standoffish, like he assumed I thought he wasn't enough."

Cloudless slammed his fist against the table abruptly, and the wood splintered from the force. "Why the hell should I have to change my nature for him? Before I was in the guild, I'd go on trips to Moonglade for a month or two at a time, and he never seemed bothered by it."

Shadow tried to think of something comforting to say, but he found himself rather inexperienced in such matters. Most death knights sort of swept their regrets under the rug, and so it was hard to know whether it would be appropriate to tell Cloudless that his lover had been a total prick about it or to calmly point out that relationships required compromise. After all, the druid had spent the last year almost completely in Orgrimmar or Outland, so he could see why Skybow would have been lonely.

Cloudless shook his head. "Like I said, I thought we were getting better. He was laughing, like he used to. Smiling more. And then Mitchell came." He frowned. "Sky didn't like that I had guild mates doing house calls."

Shadow nodded. "To him, that was probably the one place we didn't have you. Home."

"I guess," Cloudless muttered. "That was the last straw, and he told me to get out."

"He kicked you out?" Shadow blinked, surprised. He only vaguely remembered having met Skybow once—briefly—when he was still living, years and years ago. Even so, he hadn't seemed like the kind of steer to jump to such measures. Things must have been a lot worse that Cloudless had realized.

"And you know what he said?" Cloudless snapped, angry again. "He said, 'I'm sure someone in your guild can give you a place to stay. They're family, right?'"

Cloudless fell into a miserable silence as he downed several more rounds for both himself and Shadow, still oblivious that he was the only one drinking. Shadow watched his guild mate carefully, waiting to speak until after he was sure Cloudless wasn't going to cry.

" _Are_ you staying with anyone?"

"I just got into town," Cloudless muttered. "I could have taken a windrider over, but I wanted time to think. So I just rode here...with Fluffy."

Shadow eyed him. "But...have you looked into staying with anyone yet?"

"Honestly? No," Cloudless shrugged, dejected. "I was so mad...I just turned my stone off on my way over so that I could think. I...I guess I'll just stay tonight at an inn and then look into the housing market tomorrow."

"Why not stay in Thunder Bluff?"

"Everyone else is here, for the most part," the druid sighed. "And since Sky was the only real reason I stayed in Mulgore, there didn't seem like much point."

Shadow knew the feeling. Or at least a similar one. Life changed in such ways that none could predict and places that had held such meaning for so long would abruptly cease to be. While the physical shells of them would remain, the bonds, the ties, that kept one anchored to such a place would just...disappear. Thunder Bluff had gone from his world, to a foreign city in a land he could barely remember.

_Return to me...._

Shadow's senses snapped to awareness as he heard the whisper and felt a familiar tug in the back of his mind. He fought back a shudder and pushed aside his thoughts of losing what mattered to him. He knew better than to relax...than to act like he could afford such simple, wandering thoughts.

Cloudless hadn't noticed, and the death knight had to make a conscious effort not to draw attention to himself. He couldn't let them know...how would they be able to fight beside him, knowing that even now he heard the call of darkness, ever beckoning him home?

No. Not home. Orgrimmar and Acherus were home.

"We should do something to remedy your misery," Shadow offered, trying to keep his own from his voice. It seemed to work, for Cloudless perked up a little. "You're hurting, but think. Everything happens for a reason. Everything will work itself out in the end."

Cloudless almost asked what the reason for Shadow's corruption to a death knight had been and how he thought that would work itself out. However, the steer caught himself as he realized his friend had done nothing to warrant such an attack. Cloudless was just angry...at himself mostly, for letting himself lose the whole reason he fought to protect the world. At length, he simply sighed. "What did you have in mind?"

Pausing, Shadow drummed his fingers against the table. Were he still a druid, he would have said to go to Moonglade and commune with nature. While he supposed he still could, he had somewhat implied that he would be there for Cloudless and didn't want his guild mate to feel jilted.

"I suppose we could wander over to the trade district. Take a look at the query boards or see if Haa'aji's started a trade riot."

While neither option seemed overly appealing to the druid, he recognized that his friend was trying, and he nodded half-heartedly.

~"~

Blood leaned against the outer wall of the auction house, half hidden in shadows. He would have stepped back further, but the grunts were already eyeing him as it was. They weren't too keen on death knights being creepy.

He ignored the latest look from a guard as he watched three orcish children playing across the way. Two boys, one twelve, the other nine, and a girl, almost four. Every Thursday the oldest led the other two down to the market to help buy groceries and supplies for their mother. During these visits, the eldest always paused to inspect the query boards, as though wishing to just leave behind the life he knew and venture off into the great unknown.

Today was no exception and he was in the midst of such a daydream as Blood watched them. The younger boy was picking on the little orcess—he'd jerked one of her dog ears and sneered something that Blood hadn't been able to hear—but just as tears brimmed her eyes, the oldest boy snapped from his thoughts and turned to see what was going on. With a frown, he whacked the other boy on the back of the head.

Even as the younger one turned, rubbing his head, to yell at him, and the little girl darted forward to cling to her savior's knees, the oldest let out a long, tired sigh. Blood felt a pang of guilt run through him. The poor boy had had to become the man of the family far too young.

Blood's gaze abruptly snapped away as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Shadow was standing beside him, with Cloudless a few feet behind. His gaze flickered back toward the children for a moment before he gave up watching them. It wasn't like he could ever do more for them than send a few gold their way anonymously from time to time. After all, who wanted their children to know they were an abomination?

"Yes?"

"Hey," Shadow nodded to him, seeming to note the orc's displeasure with being interrupted in…what looked like stalking. Shadow didn't cast more than a glance toward the crowded street though, noting how Blood shifted his weight as he did, taking an almost protective stance, as though to keep Shadow away from someone. "We're trying to find something to do...something to help Cloudless here forget his worries for a while."

Blood turned his icy gaze toward the druid, though it softened—as much as a death knight's could—when he saw the matted clumps of hair beneath the tauren's eyes. He'd been crying for a good long while, from the looks of it. "And you think I know? I barely know what to do with myself lately. Waiting on the Horde to go to Icecrown is just about killing me." He let out a dry laugh.

"Where's Gobber?" Cloudless asked, trying to be friendly, despite his misery.

"Oh, I left him in the guild hall. Since the whole attack on Orgrimmar, people aren't too keen on seeing ghouls around. Even if Gobber knows better than to chew on civilians…most of the time."

Cloudless had spent enough time with Blood to know that he was joking, though he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the humor. "I see."

Feeling a depressing vibe from Blood in addition to Cloudless, Shadow looked around, desperately hoping to find something to provide a sense of comic relief. Where in the void was Haa'aji when you needed him? Or Mitchell or Liila? Well, Liila hadn't been much fun since the sin'dorei had joined, but she used to be right up there with Haa'aji, though she was considerably subtler around the guild leaders, leading them to still believe that Haa'aji had done half of her tricks.

While Haa'aji wasn't around, Shadow wondered if he could bribe someone in the crowded streets to start something, so that he and his friends would have something to laugh at. Even as he searched the crowd for any of Haa'aji's friends—that he knew about—a figure suddenly came into his sight, blocking his view of the crowd. Cloudless had fallen into telling his tale of misery to Blood, but even he grew quiet as he saw who it was. As Blood turned to look over his shoulder, he frowned.

She was a tauren, slenderer than most yet garbed in plate armor with a large axe hanging on her back—a warrior. Embry Sandsliver. Her tail swished back and forth as she caught her dark mane, a soft wind trying to blow strands into her eyes. She looked amused and condescending.

"What's the matter? You gentle beasts are lost without a fight?"

"There are plenty of fights ahead of us," Shadow muttered, almost instinctively.

"Yet you're bored _now_."

Cloudless rolled one of his shoulders slowly, frowning. "We're waiting to head to Northrend. It should be soon."

Embry laughed and trotted up to them, leaning on Blood and ignoring his threat to turn her into his next ghoul. "Yes, well, if you would get your heads out of the clouds and come down to Azeroth, you'd have plenty to do."

Shadow arched an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, are you recruiting us?"

"We're already in a guild," Cloudless muttered.

Blood nodded. "A damn good one, too."

Eyeing them, Embry shrugged and put a hand on her hip. "I don't have the authority to recruit. I'm just saying. The Alliance is a threat to the stability of the Horde. Convenient as your guild may be when creatures like the Scourge are running lose, you're useless when it comes to the more imminent threats. ...And as I recall, you weren't even here when the undead attacked Org. Besides, we have Anonymous to take care of problems like Illidan or the Lich King. "

"Well, if we stole all the glory, there'd be nothing for you to do," Shadow said. Though he smiled, his eyes were colder than usual.

Embry felt the chill in the air, but merely rolled her eyes. "Such arrogance. It's still a shame, though. If half of you joined Blood and Honor, we'd be able to take out Stormwind."

"Maybe that's why we don't join," Blood said, crossing his arms. "We like having cannon fodder for our fights."

"Claim to use the humans as toy soldiers all you want," Embry said, pausing and waving to someone across the way as they called her name, "but when there are no more villains to fight, you should consider what I'm saying. The Horde needs heroes, not idealists."

She didn't wait for a response before turning and trotting off. Blood considered spitting on the ground after her, but didn't. Instead, he merely waited until she was out of earshot before addressing the others. "Blood and Honor is either falling on desperate times or things are going _too_ well for them."

"Hard to tell which," Cloudless murmured. He hated the thought of fighting creatures just over simple territory. The Scourge and the Burning Legion were one thing, but other living things who just wanted to be able to raise their families in a safe, quiet world?

"We should tell her guild leader she's trying to poach from other guilds," Blood muttered, still annoyed that she had bothered them. It was true enough, though, wasn't it? If Impervious were a war guild, they'd be out in the battlefield instead of meandering through Orgrimmar, twiddling their thumbs. If he didn't have so much respect for Gregor and Gore, Blood probably would have headed to the warfronts against the Alliance by now.

Shadow shook his head grimly. "While Gregor may be against faction conflict, Gore's even more so against inner fighting. Besides, she probably thinks she's being generous in offering us something to do with ourselves."

"Women," Cloudless practically spat the word. This was why he didn't speak with his sisters anymore. If they found out about his break up, they'd probably be all too willing to 'help'.

"Women fighters are the worst of them," Blood muttered. "Half the time they think they have to overcompensate just to get past their gender. That's where Embry's arrogance comes from, I bet."

"I know what you mean," Shadow laughed, half forgetting that Cloudless was there. "When Leafless and I went with the others to investigate the Scourge, she was always so intent on pointing out that she could keep going. She always wanted to go that extra mile, even when the rest of us were ready to call it a night."

Blood chuckled. "How'd that go?"

Abruptly snapped from his amusement, Shadow sighed and pointed at his glowing eyes. Blood's smile slipped, too. It was times like this, he could almost forget that he no longer had a beating heart. Times when he could laugh...and times when there wasn't any type of reflective object around. Unlike Shadow and Leafless, he'd been decomposing almost a week before he was risen.

However, even as he looked back at Shadow, to make a joke about not being able to _live_ with women, he stopped when he saw the 'oh shit' look on his fellow death knight's face. He turned in time with Cloudless to see Leafless standing a few feet away, easily in earshot of their earlier comments.

She'd been so relieved to see them; they'd looked as lost in regards with what to do as she was and, honestly, she'd wanted to tell Shadow what had happened first, before Whisper could put her spin on the story. Now, however...

He blamed her for his death?

She'd never even considered that. Sure, she'd been the one who had wanted to push further into the Plaguelands to see the full extent of the damage done, but he'd willingly come with her. It wasn't like she'd forced him...or even _asked_ him to come along.

"Leaf," Shadow said softly, already taking a few steps toward her.

She felt herself snap. In a second a death gate had replaced where she'd been standing, and she was gone. Shadow ran his fingers through his mane slowly, before sighing and stalking through the gate himself, after calling out a quick apology to Cloudless.

The druid stood with Blood, a sudden terror gripping him that even Blood would leave him alone with his memories. The orc, however, merely reached out and patted him on the shoulder and asked if he wanted to go get a drink.

~"~

Shadow easily caught up to Leafless in Acherus, though she kept stalking away from him and ignored his attempts to talk until he finally grabbed her by the arm and jerked her to a stop. For a moment she recoiled, surprised by the force he'd used, and she almost punched him defensively. Instead, she merely jerked free from him, cursing quietly as she did so.

"Leaf, we were just joking around. Embry had come by and she was being as bitchy and condescending as ever."

"So how did bitchy and condescending lead to a conversation about me?" Leafless hissed.

One of Shadow's eyes twitched. "I'm not saying you're either. I just...look, you know how conversations wander. We were just joking around—"

"So my wanting to prove myself to the Order was a joke to you?"

"You are bending my words," Shadow muttered, pinching the top of his muzzle between his eyes as he tried to keep his temper. "You were young and overzealous. Things happened. If you can't look back at the past and laugh, what can you do?"

"You hate me." Leafless' lip quivered.

"I don't hate you. I—"

"You think it's my fault that you're dead!"

"You know what? It is," Shadow snapped, slamming his fist into the wall and making Leafless jump as cracks flew across the surface. "It really is. If you had just agreed that the Plaguelands needed healing and gone back with us, we'd still be living happily in Thunder Bluff. I'd be married. By the nether, at this point I might even have had a child." Leafless opened her mouth to respond, but he ignored her. "But instead, you wanted to see the full force of the Scourge." He held his arms out, motioning to Acherus and catching the attention of several other death knights and guards. "Well? Is this enough for your report?"

Leafless stood silently, dumbstruck.

"It was my misfortune to be the last one leaving Mulgore. Your father had come out to say goodbye, and I was the one he caught. I was the one he made promise to bring you home safely. If I had just kept up with Meadowtread or Windtrail, it would have been someone else honor bound to keep you company when you refused to return home." He shook his head, taking a step away from her. "Instead it was me."

"Shadow...." Leafless began, though he just shook his head in disgust and turned away from her.

"I can't even...I can't deal with your drama right now."

He stalked off, deeper into the death knight's stronghold, and left Leafless by herself, struggling not to burst into dry, hiccupping sobs in front of her fellow knights.


	20. No Middle Ground

Wrachette sighed as she kicked the last few drunkards out of the tavern. Though she'd suggested adding an inn above the bar, Tizzle always muttered that it would be too expensive and that they'd probably lose business during the renovations. When Wrachette had said it wouldn't be too bad, he'd asked her if she was willing to keep them afloat with her earnings off the black market and then had promptly dismissed the subject before she could say that she wouldn't mind it at all.

Tizzle was in the back going over the books to make sure their other waitresses and bartenders weren't trying to swindle anything. Fidget for example, the ruggedly handsome goblin who generally filled in for Tizzle when he went off on a raid or during shifts he needed to have free for business meetings, had stolen from the tavern on multiple occasions. Honestly, the priest would have chucked the bastard to the planks by now, if not for Wrachette.

She was star struck with him and probably could have spent the rest of her life staring into those dreamy, yellowed eyes of his. Fidget had caught on to her affections, and he teased her, occasionally winking her way or offering her a compliment or flirt. While it left Wrachette feeling all melty inside, Tizzle was merely biding his time. Sooner or later the damn goblin would have to go out of town, and Tizzle was certain that 'something' was going to happen to him as soon as he was out of sight of the Booty Bay Bruisers.

Even as Wrachette supposed it was for the best that they weren't an inn, for then they'd have to deal with disgruntled customers at all hours, a hand caught the door before she could close it and lock up. Her annoyance quickly turned to enthusiasm as she realized it was Sprocket standing in front of her and not some random alcoholic.

Though...she would have rather it been Fidget....

"Hiya, friend," Sprocket began, already trotting into the empty tavern, though he looked rather unnerved. The confidence in his voice wavered. "Don't suppose a guy can find a place ta crash here, eh? For less than that inn across the way?"

Wrachette grinned and flipped her dark green ponytail over her shoulder, figuring that perhaps Sprocket's rattled demeanor was merely because he was late on a payment of some kind. While rare for him, it happened to most everyone at least once or twice. "Depends. Ya got anythin' worthwhile for us?"

"Gold isn't?"

As Wrachette laughed and said that it was, Tizzle shuffled out from the back room, pen between his lips as he stared at some papers. "Ya need me ta throw somebody out...?" He spoke around his pen as he trailed off. When Wrachette didn't immediately respond with a yes, he looked up to see it was his guild mate rather than some belligerent fool and grinned from ear to ear. "Sprocket! Good ta see ya! What brings ya from that cold hell ya call home, hmm?"

"Oh, the usual business," Sprocket shrugged, glancing over his shoulder toward the door and then sauntering up to a table. Wrachette hopped up into a chair next to him as Tizzle put his papers away and came out to play host. Once Tizzle was seated, Sprocket glanced around the room and then scooted his chair closer in to the others. Even as he did so, Wrachette realized he'd taken seat at the centermost table, as though the walls were coated in some infectious disease. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "Guys, we got problems."

Tizzle's smile vanished in an instant. "What kinda problems?"

"The Alliance..." Sprocket glanced around again before shivering. "There was a guy...a human rogue. He came inta my shop and was askin' me a few things, about merchandise and the like. And then he started in on these weird questions, right? Do I do a lot of business with the Horde? 'Of course,' I said, 'just like the Alliance.' Then he was askin' who I did business with. He wanted names."

Wrachette scooted her chair closer to him so that he could lower his voice more. "What did ya do?"

"I told him," Sprocket whispered, annoyed that she had to ask, "that I do business with anyone who has coin."

"So what's the problem?" Tizzle muttered, already losing interest.

Sprocket eyed the priest and then ran his hands over his face. "He asked if I knew ya two. Or Impervious. Said that our names are on a Horde guild roster—that yours are on the damn charter—and he thought that was weird. I lied. I told him my name's probably on an Alliance charter, too, seein' as I'll sign one if enough money is offered. I told him I didn't really remember anythin' about any Impervious."

Wrachette pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her long arms around herself as Sprocket jumped when the wind rattled one of the windows. He hopped to his feet and darted over to the window, pulling the curtains shut as he cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier. When he made it back to the table, he was a pale green.

"As for ya guys, I said, 'Sure I know the Sprogworks twins. Best ale in the Eastern Kingdoms. Want me ta hook ya up?'" Sprocket was wringing his hands. "He just laughed. Real creepy like. Then he asked me about my pen pal in Stormwind."

"That gnome tinkerer?" Tizzle cocked his head. "What's he got ta do with this?"

"Friend, ya don't get it," Sprocket hissed. "Outside of the guild, nobody knows about him. I don't even talk about it ta people in Everlook. Face it, the Cartel pretty much knows we're Horde, they just turn a blind eye. If we get outed, they'll just say they didn't know and kick us ta our faction." As Wrachette opened her mouth, he frowned. "I don't tell people about the pen pal _or_ Impervious because if I start talkin' about Horde or Alliance, I figure it'll be like puttin' a target on my back saying I represent one. So there's no way he could have known about that gnome...unless he's been watchin' me pretty damn closely."

Tizzle frowned. The mage had a point. However... "So this guy comes asking weird questions, and then the second he leaves ya head here? Why? Wanted ta make sure all our coffins are nailed? Why not use the guild stone?"

"I don't know that I trust it anymore," Sprocket whispered. "Some of the things he said...he's had access to somebody's stone." Sprocket ran his fingers through his hair, flattening it and making his large ears look like they stuck out even further than they did. "I don't know what we're gonna do. And yeah I did head straight here. Through a port. So it's not like he could have followed me."

While the Alliance and Horde had ports to their major cities, so too did the Steamwheedle Cartel. However, one of the only things the goblins held steadfast to was that portals were pretty much out of the price range of either of the main factions, though in theory one _could_ purchase a portal. They'd pretty much have to offer the deed to Stormwind castle if they wanted one, though. Such precautions were to make sure that no fingers could be pointed their way. No need to help an Alliance forerunner or a Horde scout with their conflicts unless it was blatantly obvious that the cartel had been paid well.

With this knowledge, Sprocket had doubted that the rogue would be able to find someone to port him. Though now, he felt as though the damnable human were standing behind him, breathing down his neck. He glanced over his shoulder to confirm to himself that his fears were ungrounded.

As a terrifying silence settled over them, Wrachette's eyes slowly widened. She glanced at the other two, who were too busy in their own thoughts to notice. "What exactly did he say about the guild that he couldn't have known otherwise?"

Sprocket stared forlornly at the table. "He talked about Quel'Danas. And the Void Reaver."

"So maybe all the info he got was at that elven isle," Wrachette offered hopefully. "I mean, we were the only goblins there. Maybe our hoods slipped off once or twice. We could always say that we just went with the Horde because they were the ones there. That we'd wanted ta help out and show the Cartel wanted a safe world, too. Or that we were paid."

"We just happened ta help the guild whose roster we're on?" Sprocket asked, frowning. "I hate ta say it, but I think we're in danger if we try ta stay neutral."

"Ya've got ta be kiddin’ me," Tizzle hissed, jumping to his feet. He motioned around the tavern. "Do ya know how many years and how much effort and _gold_ Wrach and I put inta this place? Tons! We're not just gonna ditch it all just because some human scared ya."

"Lower ya voice, will ya?" Sprocket snapped back.

Wrachette shifted in her seat, uncomfortably. "Tizz, maybe we should go on vacation for a bit, yeah? We could have Fidget watch the tavern and go back ta Gadgetzan for a while. Just, ya know, see if anybody's really snoopin' around?"

Instead of responding to Wrachette's request, Tizzle narrowed his eyes at Sprocket. "Get out."

"What?" Both other goblins gasped in unison.

"I said get the hell outta my tavern," Tizzle hissed. "We ain't Horde, and we don't need no factionalist conspirin' and bringin' down our good name."

Sprocket's mouth hung open before he slowly shut it and set his jaw. He dropped out of his seat to leave, but paused. "It ain't just him that scared me. There was a group of them Alliance near my shop when he left. He wasn't with 'em, but... They were eyein' me, like they'd overheard our conversation, and they'd drawn their own conclusions..."

"How many times I gotta tell ya ta get out before ya listen, hmm?" Tizzle snapped, ignoring Sprocket's desperate attempts to reason with him. "Do I need ta call for the bruisers?"

Sprocket gave the priest an icy stare before turning to Wrachette. "I don't think it's safe. I'm gonna get my stuff in order back in Everlook, and then I'm headin' ta Orgrimmar. If ya want, let me know before I go, and I'll come by ta give ya a port."

~"~

Wrachette stood in front of Tizzle's bedroom door, hand poised to knock. However, just before it could hit the door, she pulled back and paced the hall again. As she debated just going to bed for the nth time, the door swung open, and she jumped. Tizzle leaned against the frame, a heavy frown on his lips.

"If ya got somethin' ta say, say it. Ya makin' the damn floorboards creak, and I can't sleep through it."

Wrachette rocked up on her toes as she looked at the floor, half hating it for giving away her insecurity. As Tizzle muttered something about going to bed and began to swing his door shut, Wrachette caught it. "Maybe we should listen ta Sprocket, yeah? He's never misled us or anythin'."

Tizzle glared at his sister and crossed his arms sharply. "How many years we been on our own, huh? How many times have I ever failed ya?"

Blinking, surprised by the question, Wrachette shrugged. "Never."

"Then why don't ya trust my judgment now?"

Wrachette shook her head. "It's not that I don't trust ya. I just..."

"Just what?" Tizzle snapped, angry. "Ya'd rather listen ta some frozen goblin than ya own brother?"

"Don't ya be difficult," Wrachette stomped her foot, ignoring as the floorboards rattled. "The Alliance... _and_ the Horde get pretty scary when it comes ta people they think are on the other side. We get so many of both here, I don't want ta see Booty Bay erupt into the next Halaa."

"Ya never even been to Halaa," Tizzle muttered, though his anger was giving way to simple unease.

"I've heard enough about it ta not want our home ta be like that." Wrachette looked at Tizzle pleadingly. "Let's just...go ta Gadgetzan for a while. 'Til we get everything sorted out."

With a look of disgust, Tizzle's earlier frown returned. "I ain't goin' anywhere. I got a business to run."

With that, he slammed the door shut in Wrachette's face and went to bed.

~"~

"What's buggin' ya?"

Wrachette blinked and jerked her attention toward Fidget, who stood on the other side of the bar from her, slowly wiping down a few glasses. The tavern was rather slow today. Only a few drunken humans mulled about in one corner, all four lost in a miserable silence.

Even as Fidget repeated his question, Wrachette looked the humans over, half expecting one to suddenly glare at her or mouth something like, 'We know your secret'. She shuddered and looked away. "Nothin' really."

"C'mon," Fidget set the glass down and leaned against the counter. "Ya can't expect me ta believe that. Ya normally so cheerful." He cocked his head, his bat-like ears perking up as he gave her a comforting smile. "What's eatin' ya?"

Wrachette stuck out her lower lip as she considered whether it would hurt to give him a vague idea of the problem or just to make something up. At length, she shrugged. "A friend's gettin' threatened, but Tizz won't help him."

"So why don't ya help him instead?" Fidget leaned his chin in one of his hands. "Ya don't need ta do everythin' with Tizzle, do ya?"

Frowning, Wrachette sighed. "I don't know that I can. On my own, anyway."

Fidget nodded, thoughtful, though a wide grin plastered itself to his face as he nodded toward a dwarven duo who entered the bar. After greeting the customers, he paused to look back at Wrachette. "I'm sure ya'll think of somethin', yeah?" He winked at her, "Ya've always been smarter than that brother of yours."

She couldn't help but smile as he turned away to tend to their customers. Just as she considered going over to bother those humans and see if they needed any refills, her foot scraped against something on the floor. She looked down to see a piece of paper lying half under her foot.

She could see that it was a form and as she plucked it from the ground and read it over, she paled and darted into the back of the tavern. Tizzle sat in the center of his office, mountains of papers and ledgers lining the edges of his desk as he went over the expenses for the previous month.

"Tizz, we got problems," Wrachette hissed, sliding the paper down under Tizzle's nose and interrupting his train of thought. As her brother cursed, she tapped the paper frantically. "Look at it, would ya?"

Tizzle gave her an irritated glare before acquiescing her request. He'd barely read the first paragraph when he pushed the paper back toward her. "I got work ta do."

"Tizz," Wrachette tugged on her ears in desperation. "Do ya realize what that is?"

"Sure I do," Tizzle snapped, suddenly leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands in his lap. "It's somethin' that doesn't apply ta us."

"A law and tax form for non-cartel businesses," Wrachette hissed.

"Like I said," Tizzle replied, frown well in place, "somethin' that doesn't apply ta us."

"Somebody put this in our bar," Wrachette had to catch herself before she could wail what she was trying to say. "Somebody knows and they're threatenin' us, like they did Sprocket."

Tizzle scowled and slammed one of his fists down on the table, making one of his stacks of paperwork slosh onto the center of the desk. As he cursed and began to restack it, he gave her a quick glare. "If that moron hadn't come by, ya wouldn't be worried like this."

"I'd still be wonderin' how it got here," Wrachette snapped.

"Some entrepreneur dropped it."

"It wasn't there 'til I turned ta leave the bar. And nobody was near enough ta drop it," Wrachette cried out.

"Hey..."

Both Sprogworks twins started, Tizzle looking up sharply as Wrachette whirled around as though expecting to see an Alliance soldier ready to cut her down. Fidget stared at them wide-eyed from the doorway.

Tizzle was in no mood to deal with him. "What?"

Fidget stepped into the room just far enough to hold out a thick envelope. "Some guy came by with a letter for ya."

"Who was it?" Wrachette asked, reluctantly taking the envelope as though she expected it to be cursed.

"Didn't recognize him," Fidget shrugged, already beginning to close the door to Tizzle's office. "He said ya'd know him, though."

Wrachette waited until the door had clicked shut before sliding her nail along the top of the envelope. When she took out the bundle of papers inside, her expression blanked. Tizzle had been watching her from the corner of his eye, and he frowned when she didn't either scream or try to object that just because the letter in question didn't relate to her paranoia that it didn't mean people weren't out to get them.

"Wrach?" Tizzle asked, though his frown only deepened as she merely shoved the papers toward him. Tizzle looked over the paper, and the air caught in his throat. They were documents pertained to their guild's raid attendance, with meticulously neat notes on the side next to different people's names, saying the reasons they'd been unable to make it to various raids.

At each entry, both of their names had been circled. Tizzle flipped through the papers, seeing that each and every raid their guild had ever done was documented. His lips quivered into a snarl. "What the hell is this?"

"That rogue...." Wrachette whispered.

"Rogue? Rogue my ass!" Tizzle crumpled the papers in his hand and threw them at the ground. "Sprocket sent them! That bastard won't be happy until we're as terrified as he wants us ta be!"

"What are we gonna do?"

"I'll tell ya what _I'm_ gonna do," Tizzle sneered, grabbing up the wrinkled papers and stomping out of the room. "First thing in the morning, I'm goin’ ta Everlook ta show that prick he can't mess with us like this!"

~"~

Tizzle stocked down the snowy streets of Everlook, his arms hugged about his torso as he cursed himself for not having a winter coat. Why would he have needed one when he lived in Booty Bay? Even as he shivered and tried to convince himself that it would just be a waste of money to get one now, he caught sight of Sprocket's workshop. Brow knitting in angry determination, Tizzle picked up his pace, though even nature seemed against him, a harsh wind blowing fallen snow up into his eyes.

However, as he approached, the door to the shop opened, and two human men slipped out into the open. Tizzle froze as he saw blood splattered across one of their breastplates. The other was laughing and speaking quickly, though the goblin couldn't hear what about. For the first time since Sprocket's warning, Tizzle actually felt like there might be some ground to it, though he quickly shook it off, along with the urge to hide from the humans, who didn't even cast a glance his way.

He was a business man here on business, if anyone asked. Besides, Winterspring was a dangerous place. Surely the blood had come from some yeti or saber. Or even a member of the Horde.

Chilled as he was, he waited until the men were out of sight before he wandered up to the shop, frowning to see that they hadn't even closed the door all the way when they'd left. As he eagerly stepped in from the cold, his shoes crunching on the dry snow already peppering the floor, all of his rationalizations dissipated.

Every table and counter that wasn't welded to a wall had been either broken or flipped. Contraptions were smashed, books sat smoking in a pile on the floor, charred husks of what they'd once been, and blood puddled near the center of the room. Tizzle felt his own blood draining from his face as he looked back at the door, half expecting those two men to have returned. With a shiver—not that he even registered the cold anymore—he shoved the door closed behind him and looked around again.

"Sprocket?"

As though to answer his question, a small portion of air near the far wall shimmered and then the goblin mage faded back into their reality, his nose smashed and one of his ears looking as though it was barely attached.

Tizzle threw him a few healing spells as he ran over to him, catching his arm as the goblin slumped down against the wall. Sprocket stared around his shop blankly as Tizzle shook his shoulder and tried to ask him if he was alright.

Finally, the mage snapped out of it and glared at his guild mate. "Do I look like I'm fuckin' alright?" Despite Tizzle's efforts, Sprocket's ear still had a large chunk taken out of it, and the mage was running his hand over it, as though debating what kind of magic/surgery he'd need to get it repaired...if he even could.

"I saw those men leavin'...what happened?"

"What happened?" Sprocket practically spat as he jerked to his feet and stormed over to the nearest table, looking through the broken bits of machinery for anything that might still be intact. "I just had a pleasant visit from the Alliance tellin' me that if I don't cease usin' their gold ta fund Horde expeditions—which I don't—they're gonna kill _you_ guys."

As Tizzle's jaw dropped and he floundered for something to say, Sprocket angrily swept everything off his cracked workbench. "Why us?"

Sprocket arched his eyebrows and looked back at Tizzle. "Because I won't learn my lesson if they kill _me_. At least...that's what they said."

Slumping to the ground and not even registering as his shoe came to rest in some of his guild mate's spilled blood, Tizzle ran his fingers down his face. "This doesn't make sense. We been runnin' raids for four years. Humans, dwarves, kaldorei...people have seen us around Impervious since Ragnaros. No one's ever said anythin' before. Or even cared. They knew if things got too tense we'd just go back to bein' neutral. Why are they gettin' so weird about things now?"

"They're sayin' the human king is back. Maybe that's why."

Tizzle blinked. "What?"

"Apparently some dragon broad kidnapped him or...somethin'. I don't really know," Sprocket began shoving debris away from a part of his floor. When it was clear, he tapped it twice and a trap door appeared with a lock. He felt his pockets for a moment and then pulled out a thin key and opened the door. Tizzle's ears perked up as he saw the amount of gold and gems and other valuables sitting just beneath his guild mate's floor. Sprocket glanced over his shoulder and gave him a warning glare as he continued talking. "Anyway, it's pretty common knowledge that the human king...Wrynn or whateva his name is, has no love for the Horde. He's probably crackin' down on anyone he thinks might be a spy."

Tizzle watched as Sprocket started filling his bags with his valuables. "But...this...this can't be good."

"No shit."

"No," Tizzle shook his head and wandered closer to his guild mate, though he stopped as Sprocket shot him another warning glare. "Somebody sent me and Wrach this thing... documentation of every damn raid we ever went ta."

"And?"

"How's Alliance gettin' that information on their own, hmm? It had everybody's names on it, not just ours." Tizzle crossed his arms as Sprocket paused in his work to stare at him slowly. "We got a bigger problem than guild stones bein' tampered with. Somebody knows we're Anonymous."

Sprocket plopped back to the ground, his hand absentmindedly stroking his money. "This doesn't make sense...somebody in the Horde woulda had ta tell them about everybody..."

"Exactly," Tizzle muttered, looking around the shop with a sudden fear that anyone—Horde _or_ Alliance—might wander in.

Sprocket started shoveling his belongings into his bags again with more desperation. "We gotta get out of the Cartel before the Alliance decides it doesn't feel like extendin' anymore warnin's. Or...before the Horde decides they don't want us either."

Tizzle suddenly paled. "For the love of capitalism, I left Wrach alone in Booty Bay!"

~"~

Tizzle stumbled through the portal with Sprocket on his heels. The mage hadn't been willing to stay alone in Everlook and had grudgingly allowed Tizzle to help him bag his belongings so that they could get out of there faster. While Tizzle couldn't help but pocket a few of the gems, as a carrying fee, he'd been annoyed that the greedy mage hadn't been willing to part with any of his coin, so that they could gather Wrachette and head to Orgrimmar faster.

Even as they hurried across the boardwalks toward the Sprogworks Tavern, Tizzle noticed a few guards and neighbors stopping to give him pitying and sympathetic looks. He picked up his pace.

Both of them could smell smoke. As they cleared a few of the high tiers of the city, they saw it twisting lazily up into the air, blocking out a good portion of the cloudless sky. Tizzle broke out into a run, with Sprocket following closely.

As they turned the last corner, Tizzle jerked to a stop, with Sprocket nearly sending him toppling into the water as he ran into him. Even as the mage regained his balance and looked up, Tizzle took a few slow steps toward the burned out husk of his tavern.

The planks threatened to give out beneath him as he tried to run through the door, but two Bruisers caught him by the shoulders and jerked him back. As he turned toward them, he caught sight of Fidget standing off to the side, with a few of the usual drunks, all being tended by several local healers, who were more than happy to put it on their tabs.

Tizzle broke free from the guards as they offered him warnings that the fire had left the bar's floor far too weak to enter and darted up to Fidget. He looked over the others before frowning at his bartender. "Where's Wrachette?"

Fidget didn't say anything at first. Tizzle realized that it looked as though the goblin were trying not to cry. His eyes were swollen and puffy, though that could have just been from the smoke.

"Well? Where is she?"

It took another minute for Fidget to find his voice. "She...she said she was gonna go run some errands, but...she went into the back ta get some things...."

"And?" Tizzle wanted to smack the worthless goblin.

Fidget shook his head slowly. "She...the fire started before she came back out. I tried ta reach her, but...."

One of the dwarven patrons perked up slightly when he saw Tizzle ready to denounce Fidget as a lying bastard. "He did."

Fidget's shoulders slouched. "I thought...maybe she came out but I just didn't see her, yeah? Nobody's seen her." He stared down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Tizz."

With a scowl, Tizzle levitated himself, turned, and ran into the still smoking building. He ignored the smoldering tables and holes in the floor where it looked like alcohol had helped the fire burn harsher and ran straight for the back, shoving the ruined door to the side.

He didn't stop until he reached Wrachette's room...what was left of it. While he'd hope to find it empty, so as to assure himself that she hadn't been trapped—besides, she was a shaman, so she could manipulate fire, right?—the floor had fallen through and he could make out charred and disfigured shapes floating in the surf below. A diver bobbed up near what was left of his sister's bed and looked up at him, surprised to see anyone in the building overhead. The goblin offered a quick word that he hadn't found anyone in the water, and Tizzle bit his lip.

That was good, right?

He stood there helplessly for a moment before finally turning back to leave. He'd ask every damn person in Booty Bay about whether they'd seen Wrachette. Surely, someone had seen something.

As he headed back outside, he stopped in front of his office, a single color catching his eye in the midst of all the damage. The wood was little more than balanced ash around his office and it occurred to him that the fire must have started there. He floated into the doorway and over to his desk, frowning as he picked up a small scrap of cloth laying on the surface. It was soaked with something that smelled absolutely horrible...probably some kind of flame retardant.

Tizzle's ear twitched as his clasped his hand around the cloth and then stalked out of his tavern. Even as he came back out and Sprocket hurried up to him to brush off some of the soot covering his skin, Tizzle pushed him away. "We're findin' Wrachette and then we're gettin' the fuck outta this town."

He didn't wait for Sprocket to nod and hurry off before he glared toward his tavern's regulars and threw the cloth down in front of them.

It was a bold blue with the symbol of the Alliance at its center. Tizzle pointed accusingly at it as he swore at them. "The Steamwheedle Cartel is neutral! _Neutral_! Do ya even know what that means?" He shrieked.

As Fidget, wide-eyed, tried to calm him down, Tizzle shook his fist at the stupefied drunkards. "Your king wants to burn down my shop just because we serve Horde, too? Fine! But I ain't never gonna be a filthy Alliance dog! Ya want me ta be Horde? I'm _Horde_!"


	21. Conspiracies Abound

"So can you look after things?" Whisper looked like she was about to have a heart attack or just burst into tears.

Sham nodded quickly. "Of course. Do you need me to head over to the shop now, or...?"

"No, I went ahead and closed for today," Whisper said in a single exhale. She ran her fingers over her mane and then fumbled in her pocket for keys to the shop and a list of things that would need to be tended. After Timmons' last stunt, she thought perhaps making a list would help Sham to run the store. As she handed the orcess the paper, she half hugged her. "Thank you! I'd ask Liila, but she's doing some sort of research or something, and she can't really divide her attention between that and watching the shop—"

"It's fine." Sham smiled and nodded to Whisper, though her enthusiasm slipped as she realized she could hardly read Whisper's writing. She pushed aside her worries and patted the tauren. "You take care of your mother, alright? Let us know how she's doing."

As Whisper clopped off to find someone to give her a portal to Thunderbluff, Sham hurried back into her house to assure herself that her stew hadn't boiled over. Content that it wasn't ruined, she stirred it absentmindedly and looked over the list Whisper had given her. Knowing that dinner wouldn't be overcooked from another moment or two of neglect, she wandered upstairs to her and Gore's bedroom to retrieve some paper, ink, and a pen, thinking to try to figure out exactly what it was Whisper wanted her to do and make her own list.

She rummaged through a dresser and frowned when she realized Gore must have moved the paper again, or used the last of hers. The man could defend a city and mobilize a guild like no other, but when it came to letting Sham know when he needed more supplies for reports or wanted signs, he never mentioned anything until they were completely out of whatever he was looking for.

At least she still had ink. She supposed she would have to make do with making notes on the page Whisper had given her and pick up a few things at the market on her way to open shop in the morning. As she checked a few last places in the room, hoping in vain for a scrap of parchment, she heard footsteps downstairs. She gave up and headed down in time to see Lash vanish out the door with his travel satchel slung over his shoulder. Sham couldn't help but look at the empty room that he normally lounged in with Duskeh. Gore had jokingly said something—Sham hadn't heard what exactly, but after seeing Lash's cheeks flush, she had an idea of the subject—and the hunter had stayed the last two nights at Liila's. However, while Sham had thought Gore might want to talk, he'd ended up being called away both evenings for meetings with the warchief.

Speaking of her husband, he would be due home any time. Though with her recent luck, he'd be heading off again in half an hour. And with Lash gone as well, the house felt oddly empty. Normally, she'd have visited Khai'rhi or invited her over, but she and Genji seemed to be making up for all the time they'd spent in their awkward stalemate, and as a result Khai'rhi's schedule had been taken over by the mage.

Sham was happy for them, though she had to profess to feeling a bit lonely. She'd already decided she'd go harass Liila and her lot if tonight looked to turn into another solitary evening.

"What's for dinner?"

Sham snapped out of her thoughts and turned to see Gore standing beside the pot she had over the fire. His hand was on the lid, though he looked as though he were unsure if opening it might somehow ruin the contents. Men.

Setting her ink and quill down on the table where Lash normally sat, she trotted past him to get bowls. "Boar and vegetable stew." Gore merely grunted his approval as he wandered over to the table and took a seat. Sham looked after him and then at the door, as though Lash would poke his head back in. The hunter was already long gone, however. "Is Lash heading out to go help in Ashenvale? I know he was talking about it...." Sham's voice drifted off as Gore looked at her and shook his head slowly.

Sham brought his dinner to him and sat down. She stirred her own soup around quietly as she waited for him to start talking about something. Lash's plans, inept guards, a thwarted Alliance attack, anything. Silence defied her expectations. She finished her soup quickly and paused when she saw he'd barely eaten any of his. With a playful smile, she pushed his shoulder. "Is there a reason you're giving me the silent treatment?"

"I'd like to have dinner in peace," Gore muttered.

Sham narrowed her eyes slowly as she watched him, incredulous that he would talk to her as though she were anything but an equal. Part of her wanted to snap at him and then stalk out of the house, but then...Gore wasn't generally like this. In fact, he'd never acted this cold.

Not to her.

She slid closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, his muscles tensed, and she thought he was going to tell her to go away, but instead he slipped one of his arms around her waist and held her to him.

Sham wasn't sure how long they stayed like that before Gore sighed, squeezed her gently, and released her so that he could finish his soup. She ran her fingers down his arm. "What bothers you?"

At first Gore merely frowned. Then he started to shrug, though he caught himself before he could jostle Sham. He ran his fingers along her chin and her neck as he looked down at her. "I am being replaced as the commander of Orgrimmar's security."

Sham jerked her head up, eyes wide. "What?"

"They feel that if I had been doing my job instead of..." his face twisted with disgust, "...'roaming the countryside' then Orgrimmar would not have been hit as hard by the ghouls."

"But..." Sham searched for something she could say that would make it better. Something that he could defend himself with. But what could they say? That he'd been busy killing Kil'jaeden? They'd always stayed out of the spotlight with their victories and to suddenly push for recognition would be taken as a desperate move. Besides, she'd always suspected that Thrall was smart enough to figure out the correlation between Gore's absences and the deaths of old gods and other threats.

Gore patted her hand lightly. "Thrall requested that I go with Garrosh and Saurfang to Northrend."

"That's not as bad as you made it sound, then," Sham offered. "They still think you are a worthy warrior."

"If Garrosh had his way—"

"But he doesn't," Sham slipped her arms around his. "Thrall is wise enough to know who to listen to and when."

"Garrosh will be in _charge_ of the Horde establishments in Northrend. I do not think I can take orders from that fool."

"Then don't," Sham shrugged and smiled at her husband as he eyed her as though he expected she was laying a trap for him. She leaned up and kissed him quickly. "You haven't trusted Garrosh since he came here, and I trust you. If you think he is too foolhardy to lead, then don't follow him."

Gore straightened up, indignant. "What do you expect me to do, _retire_?" It was a human concept that he'd never quite understood. How did a warrior just stop doing their duty to their people and sit at home? It was far better to swing one’s axe to strike down opponents until there were either none left or you fell to them. And as far as threats went, while Gregor was his friend, Gore knew that so long as the Alliance existed, there would always be reason to bear arms.

Sham rolled her eyes. "Or you could become a full time guild leader." When he merely grumbled that he already was a guild leader full time, Sham grinned. "But think, if you rallied Impervious to move into Northrend instead of just having a few ragtag bands wander around at their leisure, then imagine how much swifter things would go. And you could do it under our banner instead of taking orders from Garrosh."

Gore took a deep breath as he considered it and then gave his wife a half smile. "Mitchell would complain that it was cold. Haa'aji would probably do something stupid like steal Garrosh's axe. Timmons and Enlyhn would make enemies with the natives and leave the rest of us on horrible terms with them. Whisper and Margaret and Liila would wander off on their own and come back exalted with some bizarre people who, through some inexplicable twist of fate, would never trust the rest of us."

"And you've yet to say anything that would be a good reason not to go as a guild," Sham teased.

"I suppose I'll have to consider that then." As Gore shook his head and chuckled at the thought of Haa'aji and Gregor trapped on a zeppelin together for the duration of the trip north, Sham rose to her feet and took their bowls from the table, setting them aside to be washed later. After she'd doused the fire under the pot of stew, she let out a small cry as Gore lifted her into the air.

He gave her a gentle grin as he pulled her close and kissed her. "Shall we put off our worries? At least for the night?"

Sham crossed her arms and feigned an insulted look. "I was never worried."

Gore laughed as he carried her upstairs.

~"~

Gore had left for duty that morning with a bounce in his step that Sham hadn't seen in months...mainly since Garrosh had begun to speak out and attempt to shape Orgrimmar's future. Sham was rather pleased herself. It was nice having the house to themselves and, while she loved Lash like a son, she wondered if she ought to start hinting that he should look into starting his own family. After all, he was a grown orc.

Sham was so enraptured by her thoughts that she completely missed her name being called. It wasn't until she felt someone's hand on her shoulder that she snapped back to reality and turned quickly to see who it was who was stopping her. She didn't realize that she'd gripped her satchel to use as like a dull morning star until she felt her grip loosening.

Offering her a quick smile, Murk, the orc who'd stopped her, nodded her way. "Throm-Ka." As Sham echoed the greeting, he glanced around. "You seem on edge."

"You just surprised me," Sham shrugged and then laughed. "And I never know when one of those idiots in my guild is going to come up looking for someone to hide them from one of the other idiots."

Murk laughed. "I don't see how you guys manage to keep them in line."

"The same way Taknar keeps your lot from wreaking havoc, I suppose," Sham grinned back, though her smile slipped as Murk glanced around again. She swung her satchel casually, as she allowed her gaze to wander the street as well. What was he looking for?

"I really want to talk to you about something."

Sham looked back at him questioningly, though he kept his own attention away from her. When he didn't immediately offer whatever his concern was, she frowned. "What is it?"

"Try to stay casual, will you?" Murk murmured, smiling and nodding to a few guards who threw out greetings to the two shamans. When Sham didn't respond, he looked back at her to see she had a look on her face that implied her patience was intact, but an underlying sternness had overtaken her. He shrugged his shoulders and made a few hand motions as he started talking. It took Sham a moment to realize he was making it look like he was talking about something else to anyone who saw them. "There's not...Impervious has never aided the Alliance, right?"

Sham eyed him, noting a slightly panicked light in the back of his eyes. She shrugged and made a few motions as though she were describing a flask or trinket. "Of course not. Why would you even ask me that?"

Murk chewed on his lip. "If you haven't done anything, there shouldn't be anything to worry about, I suppose...."

"What are you talking about?" Sham nearly stopped in her tracks, but Murk caught her by her elbow and kept her walking.

"Look, I can't go into details—"

"Murk!"

Both orcs stopped and turned to see Murk's guild mate, Embry Sandsliver, clopping up to them. Her mace thudded dully against her back as she ran. When she stopped in front of them, she didn't even look at Sham. "Murk. I've been looking everywhere for you. You said you'd heal for me in the Gulch, remember?"

Murk shifted his weight, and Sham noticed how he seemed to flinch from the look Embry gave him before finally giving the tauren a half nod. "Right. It slipped my mind."

Embry looked at Sham as though she hadn't just given her the cold shoulder and shrugged with mock helplessness. "Men, right?"

Before Sham could agree, Embry had Murk by the arm and was dragging him off. Just before they were out of earshot, she heard Murk hiss, "...when they hear we weren't at the Gulch, it's gonna look suspicious—"

"Like anyone in Impervious would ever know who goes to the Gulch. Don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Sham had to force herself not to follow them and demand to know what was going on. First Gore said he was being kicked from his position. Now their loyalty to the Horde was in question? When had they ever done anything that wasn't in the Horde's best interest?

While she considered trying to track down Lisp and see if he knew what was going on with Blood and Honor, she decided against it. However, she figured that it wouldn't hurt if she opened shop a few minutes late and decided to keep her information gathering in the guild, if possible. Picking up her pace, she took a few twists and turns until she found herself in front of Howl's hut. She knocked on the windowsill and then peered in, frowning to see that his home was already empty.

"Looking for Howl?"

Sham paused and waved to one of her guild mate's neighbors as she nodded.

The older orc woman nodded as she rested a basket of laundry on one of her hips. "He headed to the forge about half an hour ago."

"Ah, thank you—"

"It was mighty strange, though." The older orc frowned at Sham, as though to imply a reprimand was in order for Howl. "Some soldiers came to get him. Made all sorts of noise to wake him up."

Sham offered a quick apology. "Howl could sleep in the middle of the maelstrom." When the other orc merely grunted, Sham excused herself and hurried over to the forges.

She had to say she was relieved to see that Howl was actually there and that he wasn't shackled to the wall. She wasn't sure why she'd thought he would be, but she could practically hear the wind whispering conspiracies. Sham frowned as she realized that perhaps she was more worried about Gore's position than she'd originally thought.

As she stepped into the forge, Howl looked up and offered her a quick wave. "Sham! What's got you up this early?"

She smiled. "Whisper asked me to run her shop, and I was worried I'd be late."

Glancing out the door behind her, Howl flashed her a crooked grin. "Looks like you might be."

With a sigh, Sham looked out to see the sun was higher than she'd realized. She'd been so bent on getting information, she hadn't realized how long it'd taken her to get there. She might be able to make it in time if she made a run for it, but....

"Howl, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He glanced around the empty forge and then shrugged, resting his blacksmithing hammer on the table and leaning against it. "What do you need?"

Sham hesitated, feeling like something was watching her from the shadows. After working with Haa'aji and Roberts for so long, she didn't trust the spacious room. There were too many places a person could hide. "You're alone today?"

"My former apprentices are out getting a few ore shipments," he paused and motioned for her to step closer. "Why?"

Fighting the urge to hunch her shoulders and whisper, Sham merely shook her head. "A few members of Blood and Honor are acting strangely." She hesitated as she considered saying that their 'oddness' was different from usual. However, as she looked up at Howl, she was unsettled to see that he didn't need any such clarifications.

"Something's going on, but I don't know what," he took in a slow breath, "and you're gonna have to look for someone else to help figure it out because Garrosh has requested that I oversee the production of his guards' weaponry and armor, personally."

"That's an honor," Sham started, though Howl merely frowned and heaved himself away from his anvil.

"If I believed that was the real reason I'm going to be holed up here for the next three weeks, it might be."

~"~

Sham came to a halt as she neared Whisper's Vials. Leafless was standing a few feet away from the shop, arms crossed and a light frost permeating the ground around her, despite the heat of the day that was already beginning to make sweat bead on Sham's forehead. She hoped that was what was making her sweat and not the nerve wracking matter that something was very wrong in Orgrimmar.

Haa'aji was impossible to reach, and Roberts had already told her that he couldn't look into matters because he was awaiting an assignment from the Dark Lady. Sham had to force herself not to start scrawling out her concerns on the guild stone. The last thing she needed was her guild to think she was paranoid.

Leafless had helped Howl gather information all through his adventures in Outland, and Sham half considered heading over to the tauren and trying to work around the woman's foul mood when she noticed Leafless flip open one of her bags and inspect a few half empty vials.

Great. With the day she was having, Leafless' ruthless scrutiny over the potions in the shop was just what she needed. At least she had her list....

Sham's eyes widened as she realized she'd forgotten the paper. She could see it still sitting on the table in her home and wrinkles lined her frown. Which would be worse? Leafless' harsh criticism from a lack of knowledge of the potions or from losing more time that the shop could be in business? Sham squinted up at the pale blue sky and sighed, figuring that regardless, she ought to let Leafless know the shop would be open late.

However, before she could call out to her, Leafless shoved her potions back into her bags and stalked off. Sham considered going after her, but dismissed it. That might look desperate to someone watching. Like she was expending her sources for information for _something_ , and whoever was watching might get suspicious as to what that something was.

It seemed all of the fates had grown bored and joined forces to make her suffer an intolerably stressful day.

She hoped it would just be a day.

Sham hurried through the streets back to her house, thoughts bouncing around in her head. Did she look suspicious hurrying as she was? All she'd done was forget a piece of paper, but what if more members of Blood and Honor were watching her? Would they think she was trying to hide something?

As Sham darted into her house and to the table where her list still sat, she jumped as she heard something rustle behind her. Whirling around, again ready to wield her satchel as a weapon—why did she have to keep her mace upstairs?—she stopped in her tracks when she saw Wrachette and Enlyhn staring back at her with wide eyes.

Enlyhn picked up Wrachette, despite the goblin's protests and made a point to hand her to Sham. "She's yours now. Have fun."

Ignoring Wrachette as she swore up and down at him, he dropped her and stalked out of the hut. Sham managed to catch Wrachette before she could hit the ground and set her down gently, glancing after the receding form of their warlock and then back.

In truth, Enlyhn would have been happy to let Wrachette fend for herself in the sprawling capital, but after squeezing a summons out of the orcish warlock coven, the little goblin had made a point to be an annoyance to he and his compatriots about how someone needed to show her around. Finally, the grand warlock had snapped and told him to take the damnable creature elsewhere before he ended her. While Enlyhn had thought it rather considerate that the grand warlock would offer a warning before snuffing Wrachette's existence, his guild mate had not seen it that way and had proceeded to rant to him about common decency for the last twenty minutes. It was a wonder that Enlyhn hadn't set the little shaman on fire yet. Thus, when he'd seen Sham, he'd decided to escape before Wrachette could fill in his guild leader. He'd take demons tearing apart his soul any day over being damned to have to listen to two ladies complain to him about matters _beyond_ his control.

"What's going on?" Sham couldn't take much more mystery.

"I'm officially Horde!" Wrachette chirped, straightening up and saluting with such force that her ears bobbed twice. She kept talking as Sham looked past her to see a small satchel resting in the doorway—all of Wrachette's earthly belongings fit into such a small space. Odd for a goblin. "But! I have ta warn ya! I told Enlyhn, but he was bein' weird about it...but I don't think we should be usin' our guild stones for a while. There's some weird Alliance spy runnin' around. He threatened Sprocket and so Sprocket's comin' ta Org, too. And he knew about all of our raids and...."

It took a moment for Sham to get Wrachette to slow down and explain everything. When she was done, Sham ran her fingers down her face. "Did you let Tizzle know you were leaving?"

"Psh," Wrachette rolled her eyes. "I left that moron a note. Right on top of his stacks of ledgers. There's no way he doesn't know where I am."

"And you don't think he'll come, too?"

Wrachette shrugged, disinterested. "Just because we're twins, doesn't mean we gotta do everythin' together, ya know?"

Sham however, barely nodded. So now the Horde _and_ the Alliance were looking into them? It didn't make any sense. Even as Sham began to wonder what was going on, or more importantly, what had happened to bring their loyalty into question to begin with, Wrachette's recount of Sprocket's suspicions that their guild stones were being spied upon sunk in.

Ancestors, she'd probably alerted whoever was watching them that something was up when she started asking Haa'aji and the others for help.

Trying to think of what to do, she finally pocketed the list she'd come for and then motioned toward the door. "Come with me. I'm far too late with opening the shop—"

"Whisper's Vials?" Wrachette perked up. She'd heard of the little business, but had never been far enough into Orgrimmar to see it herself. While she might not have been nearly as competent with management as her brother, she still understood basic models and was curious to see how Whisper ran shop. Did they have tabs for frequent buyers? Was it a cash only sort of deal or did they accept trades? Wrachette felt giddy, wondering what sort of things she might learn about orcish trading policies.

"Yes," Sham said quickly, forcing the conversation back on topic. "Come with me and when we get there, I'll draw you a map to Liila's house, alright? We need Haa'aji if we want to find out what's going on. If anyone can get in contact with him now, it'd be Liila."

~"~

Liila's pen stilled on the parchment she was scribbling across, and the ink began to pool into a splotch, consuming half of the word she'd just finished. "Cinder, please stop leaning over me. It's distracting."

Cinder Darkweaver frowned at the little elf, but complied and stepped away from her chair, instead choosing to take a seat on the edge of the desk so that she could still see what her friend was working on. She was a half-breed druid, half troll, half orc who'd been raised in tauren society. As a result, she was shorter than most trolls, slenderer than most orcs, and had a better understand of nature than most any member of either of her species. Margaret used to constantly tease her that she just looked like a pale green human...the pointy ears, small tusks, and brilliant red hair didn't count, of course.

One of the original founders of Impervious, Cinder had never formally left the guild when she'd run off with her lover and had sent several threatening letters to all the appropriate people to assure that she wouldn't be kicked from the guild for going AWOL. She'd been insistent that military disciplinary actions were unnecessary in a guild. Gore had written her back with an angry letter of his own when she'd equated their lot to mercenaries.

Besides, she hardly considered it her fault. Almost two years ago, she'd been quite happily single and living in a rather comfy hut when Mitchell had accidentally blown it up—while the mage claimed it to have been an accident, there was a great deal of skepticism that he had been avenging his pet cockroach, Squirmy, whom Cinder had squished only a week prior...another supposed accident which many had suspected was a result of Mitchell 'accidentally' setting Cinder's favorite robe on fire which...well, there were a lot of 'accidents' that happened when Mitchell and Cinder were in the same room, and each accident always seemed preceded by another. Several of their guild mates had attempted to draw a time line and figure out who had started the subtle war, but in the end their meticulous charts had vanished, and everyone was left to wonder.

At the time of her housing dilemma, Whisper was only just beginning to harass Liila and Margaret to buy a house with _her,_ and a good many of the other guild members were either homeless or living in cramped conditions as it were. Howl had been in a semi-serious relationship with a lovely young warrior who’d had a jealous streak more malevolent than the black flight and had refused to share Howl's house with another female. As a result, Cinder had found herself staying with Enlyhn.

That was where she'd met Nimlia, the most gorgeous creature she'd ever seen. Such perfection...to think it could be contained in a single creature. Sure, everyone had tried to tell her that succubi could make themselves attractive to anyone with their wily charms and demonic magic, but it had been more than that. The demon hadn't attempted to seduce her. Rather, she had sympathized, told her of losing her own home, her freedom.

Their conversations had been so honest, so tender....

Cinder eyed her elven companion as Liila picked up her pen and began writing again. She crossed her arms and then uncrossed them. Then she began to play with one of the feathers she'd strung up in her hair. "Who leaves a fourteen page goodbye letter, anyway? In demonic, no less?"

"A demon?" Liila replied, unamused.

Cinder frowned and dropped her feather. "I don't understand it. We were in love. Why would she just leave me?"

"If you would let me finish translating the note, I'll let you know."

Liila had a talent for languages, which had come in handy on more than one occasion as she traversed Azeroth. However, at the moment, she found herself silently cursing her gift and Cinder both.

Sethyl had sent her word that there might be issues with getting her access to Silvermoon, and her mind was twisting between relief and indignant frustration. If she wasn't allowed into the city, then that was an excuse to give up on her past, if only for a while. On the other hand, it had been her city once, hadn't it? Who were they to say she couldn't go home?

Liila paused and scratched out the last word she'd written, as it was from her own thoughts rather than the note she was transcribing.

Cinder abruptly jerked from her roost and back onto the armrest of Liila's chair, leaning her chin against the small elf's shoulder as she peered at the words scrawled across the page. "Do you need a break? I wouldn't think that you would have so much trouble...."

Turning her head so that she could eye her visitor, her voice mirrored the faint annoyance on her features. "Is this your altruism kicking in or did you change your mind about wanting to know?"

"I want to know...unless she's saying she never loved me. Is she saying that?" Cinder leaned forward to inspect the paper more carefully and then straightened up. "No, don't tell me if she is."

Even as Liila's eye nearly twitched, footsteps from the floor below interrupted both ladies’ conflicted thoughts. They quieted and waited until a scratchy voice called out for someone.

"Liila? Ya home?"

Cinder jumped to her feet and ran for the ramp leading downstairs. "Wrachette! C'mere you adorable little imp!"

"I'm a damned goblin...."

Liila trotted down after Cinder, though she stopped in her tracks when she saw Wrachette trying to wave an axe menacingly while being crushed against Cinder's ample bosom. "Put me down!" Even though Cinder merely cackled and squeezed her harder, Wrachette managed to forget her harasser when she saw Liila. “Liila! We got an emergency! We need Haa'aji home, now! And if ya got a way ta contact him without the guild stones, that'd be best...."

While Wrachette had to wonder if such a way existed, she was mildly surprised to see Liila merely pull off one of her earring studs and then tap it several times. Runes flickered in the air above it, and then she scribbled something onto the tiny gem before putting it back in her ear.

"Done. He'll be home in the next three days."

~"~

Haa'aji eyed the pink haze beneath the tree that several sentinels and adventurers stood in front of, laughing and talking. Those sentinels were deceptive little bastards, pretending that they weren't paying attention when they really were. He'd already tried to get close enough to run through the mists to freedom four times. Each time, as soon as he came just beyond an arm's reach, the sentinels would perk up and look straight at him.

By the loa, he wasn't sure if they actually saw him or not. They might have just been screwing with him at this point. Or perhaps they sought annoy him into carelessness. He drummed his fingers against one of his knees silently, watching for an opening as he had been for the last twelve hours. At least traveling through the Plaguelands had taught him patience.

What in the twisting nether was up with that portal tree, anyway? The kaldorei were always complaining about arcane magic and how bad it was, but they didn't seem to mind using it if it was convenient. Hypocrites. The next time he was in Silithus, he was going to let those Cenarion morons know exactly what he thought of their culture...by stealing anything worthwhile that wasn't nailed to the floor.

Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have been plotting the downfall of the night elven society had he brought a decent about of food with him—he'd run out two days ago—but harping on his own shortcomings left his demeanor even darker, so he chose to ignore that he might have dug his own grave.

He considered trying to contact Enlyhn again. Timmons was in one of his bitchy moods, so far as he could tell, and wasn't responding to any of his messages. Sometimes the idiot warlock would just ignore him for days, only to finally snap, "You know what you did!"

While this statement was generally true, Haa'aji still felt this to be a poor reason to leave him stranded. And this time he hadn’t even actually done anything.

That Timmons knew about.

That left Enlyhn. After his last request, the warlock had written him back, asking if the rest of the guild realized that he was a master of darkness and not just someone who could give them a free ride to Orgrimmar. Haa'aji was fairly certain that Enlyhn was ignoring him now because of his response about understanding how mages felt.

Another group of sentinels patrolled down a road a few yards behind him, but he didn't bother to turn around. He'd hear if they were coming too close and would make a run for the tree branches off to his right. Perhaps he ought to just do that anyway...scale down the tree. He frowned at the thought of swimming back to Kalimdor. He'd much rather just run through the mists and sneak onto a boat.

Or just get a damned summons. At this rate he was going to have to pick a side in his coven war and ingratiate himself to either the orcs or forsaken just to get home.

Fighting back a sigh, he blinked his eyes a few times to stay his weariness and continued to watch for an opening. This would have been so much easier if he had just made sure to double check all the potions he'd stolen from the kaldorei's alchemy shop. He'd grabbed the usual replacements for what he'd taken from Whisper's Vials, plus a few nifty ones that he'd heard one of the elves bragging about. The potions could make the drinker don the appearance of another. While Haa'aji could have sworn that he'd taken seven such potions and had used the first five to impersonate sentinels and civilians alike in order to start a little bit of chaos in different parts of the city, he'd found the last one he'd grabbed to have been one that made him grow in size, after a huntress had shot an arrow through his sixth potion. It had been considerably harder to hide from the angry mobs overturning every leaf to find him once he was twice his usual size.

Luckily it had worn off the night before, and he was fairly certain that the angry mob was still looking for a giant.

The sentinels caught the faint chime before Haa'aji, and he cursed his luck as he slipped back through the shadows and wove his way through some of the nearer trees. How the fuck was his guild stone going off? It should have been on silent. Was Mitchell fiddling with the spells on it again? It seems like he did that every Tuesday, and every Tuesday things went wrong.

When he was sure he hadn't been followed, Haa'aji pulled the small stone from his pocket and paused as he realized that it _was_ silent, and there had been no new messages, aside from one that said not to use the stones.

Tired as he was, it took him a moment—and another chime—before it dawned on him that it was a small orb attached to a thin chain around his neck that was emitting the noise. He slipped the chain up over his head so that he could see the stone more easily and tapped it until runes flickered through the air over it.

He'd barely registered the message when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see a rather perturbed druid standing behind him.

"Shit."


	22. If It's Not One Thing

"Roberts."

The voice came from behind where Roberts had seated himself, near the door leading down to the tavern's meager stocks of ale and molding bread. While there were a few crates of decent food, it was reserved for any breathing customers who might stumble upon the little dump. Not that many did. Most simply took one look and back away slowly, trying desperately not to make eye contact with the barkeep, who watched them listlessly, already knowing that he wouldn't be getting their coin.

Roberts didn't bother to look to see who it was lurking in the shadows. He recognized the metallic ring in the voice easily enough. "Lucas."

Lisp paused. He wasn't used to people using his real name. Well, not since Haa'aji had dubbed him Lisp, a poor joke tracing back to the days before his metallic lower jaw, when his tongue had hung limp against his throat, and any words he'd attempted to form came out as mere grunts or gurgles. So far as Lisp could tell, somehow in Haa'aji's warped mind, he had equated such struggles of communicating as speaking with a lisp. In truth the troll had still been learning common from Liila and had thought he was using the word correctly. Once he'd found out otherwise, the nickname had already stuck.

Lisp dropped into a chair beside Roberts and eyed his fellow rogue, his knit brow giving away his concern. "I don't have much time…someone's always watching, you know."

Roberts didn't move, didn't breathe. For a moment, Lisp wondered if rot had overtaken his fellow rogue, but then he remembered that this was just Roberts' way of telling him to get to his point and get out.

"For the next few weeks, I need you to stay true to our Lady's cause, alright?"

"When do I not?" Roberts turned his yellowed gaze toward Lisp slowly. He tried not to show his look of contempt for his former guild mate, though he was sure Lisp already knew how he considered him a traitor. He wouldn't be much of a rogue if he couldn't gather such obvious information.

"There are rumors going around about Impervious," Lisp said quickly, though he paused as Roberts simply resumed staring straight ahead, his boney fingers laced together where they rested on the table in front of him, next to an empty ale. "You and I both know how much truth is behind them."

Roberts didn't respond.

With an exasperated sigh, Lisp ran his fingers over his face once before leaning toward Roberts. "Orders are going to come down soon sending you off somewhere where you won't be able to help Impervious. Haa'aji's going to get assigned a hit from the Shattered Hand sending him somewhere far from Orgrimmar, and Howl's going to have his hands tied as well." He paused to see if Roberts would ask him any questions. When he didn't, Lisp glanced around, growing frustrated.

Of course no one would listen to him, especially after he'd left the guild without so much as a word to any of them. He could have handled it better, had he not been so panicked at the time. As it was, he'd quietly crossed his name off the roster and slipped out. The guild had just assumed that he had gone off on one of his black ops missions when he didn't show up for meetings and the like…until they'd seen him strutting through town, the newest member of Blood and Honor.

Margaret and a few others still counted him a friend, though Gregor wouldn't even talk to him anymore. Of all the people who shunned him, Gregor was definitely the worst. In life, they'd owned farms side by side. They'd looked after each others' crops when one fell ill. Their wives had babysat each other’s children.

In some ways he felt he deserved the ill treatment. Especially after what had happened in Stranglethorn. So far as he knew, only Haa'aji and Roberts knew about the incident—his reason for leaving the guild—and he prayed to whatever force might be looking out for the world that Gregor would never learn of it. It was the only favor he asked of the gods or Light or whatever and hoped dearly that it would be considered a small enough gift to grant.

Lisp rose to his feet, though he paused to lean toward Roberts. He ignored the dagger that pressed lightly against his neck, Roberts' hint that such close proximity was unwelcome. "For the next few weeks, don't go down to Stormwind to check on Gregor's family, don't slip into battles and help Alliance escape, don't do anything that could paint you in a bad light. After the attack on Orgrimmar, he's looking for a reason to make an example out of your lot."

Even as Roberts straightened up and turned to look at Lisp, the rogue was gone.

Before he could decide to settle back into his seat, a dreadguard strode into the tavern, empty eye sockets scanning the room before stopping on him. The woman walked up to Roberts and held out a thin, crinkled piece of paper. As soon as he had a grip on the parchment, the woman turned on her heels, calling over her shoulder, "Our Lady wishes you to be on your way by midnight. No later."

The woman's exit was somewhat diminished when she narrowly escaped a flaming door as Timmons blew it clear off its hinges. Roberts frowned as the warlock strode up to him, flames still flickering at his fingertips. He needed to find a new place to relax. Too many people knew to find him here.

"Where the hell is Mitchell?"

~"~

Roberts sat at the bottom of a lake in Gilneas, hoping that the muddy waters would hide him. The worgen were getting much more organized and, with their noses, it had to be easy, even alone, to hunt a corpse. Lady Sylvanas would not be pleased with his report. Timmons might be, though.

Timmons was a native born Gilnean, who had moved to Lordaeron with his mother when he was a child. While Roberts had never bothered to look far into Timmons' past—no further than why he always kept his hood up, anyway, and that had been a huge disappointment—he did know that Timmons' father still resided in Gilneas and that the warlock loathed him with a passion. He'd probably be thrilled to know his father had either become a beast or been devoured by one.

Roberts wondered if Timmons had made it back from the Arathi Highlands yet. After Mitchell had tossed him through the portal, Roberts had swung by the warlock coven and taken the grand warlock to the side, requesting that he not summon Timmons anytime soon. While he liked Timmons as much as anyone could, Roberts knew that he was a loose cannon. If there really was an investigation into Impervious going on, it would be better for everyone if Timmons was absent. Not that he was an Alliance sympathizer. He wasn't an anything sympathizer.

Rubbing his leg, Roberts pushed thoughts of his guild out of his mind. He'd worry about them after he found a way back to forsaken territories. Right after he got his leg back from the damned worgen.

He rubbed the end of his severed limb as he glared up at the surface of the water, wondering what he was going to have to do to fix this. Some undead might be content to replace their limbs using whatever was nearest or most convenient, but he somewhat prided himself in still being one hundred percent Roberts.

A warbled howl drifted down to him, and he lay lower into the mud, biding his time….

~"~

Sometimes it was hard for Haa'aji to believe that he had once been a proud Amani warrior. Rather, it seemed like that life had been a dream. His early years of training, of learning to hone his rage into an unstoppable force seemed surreal.

Even then, he'd wanted to be a rogue. Ever since, as a boy, he'd seen a quel'dorei rogue escape from his village with vital intelligence on a planned Amani assault. The elf had been so quick, so lithe, so silent. Prior to that moment, Haa'aji hadn't realized creatures could be so majestic.

From then on, he'd turned his interests toward rogue training. However, the Amani order refused to take him in. In retrospect, Haa'aji had to admit that at the time he would have made a poor shadow stalker. He was still too used to throwing himself haphazardly into combat, too used to letting the thrill of battle overtake his senses until all that was left was blood lust.

It had been his months struggling to survive in the Plaguelands which had finally broken his warrior spirit, allowing him to settle into the calmer demeanor of a rogue. Slipping past death knights and ghouls, abominations and gargoyles, he learned to be calm, collected. Not to panic at a misstep, but merely to stay quiet and move quickly.

His foot falls ceased to echo his presence and ambitions, instead replaced with mere silence. He learned to bury his fear in those forsaken woods. That it was pointless to be afraid of death when it walked all around him. If he failed, he failed. If not, well…if not he'd be able to keep wondering if he was actually heading toward a non-plagued part of the world, if such a thing still existed.

It was like another life.

Had Haa'aji still held his warrior traits, the druid who found him in Darnasus would have easily taken him down or at the very least, killing him would have alerted guards, and he would have had the whole of the kaldorei capital hunting him with new found rage.

As a rogue, it was easy for him to slip out of the elf's grasp, step around behind him, and snap his neck. While he supposed that light left all creatures' eyes when they were ended, he hated the way any elf's eyes blanked. It reminded him of Liila's first death, before he'd known, she was incapable of staying dead.

That was why he always tried to kill any elf he might face from behind. It was a good strategy for any creature, really. But when he saw that light flicker out, allowing him to see the glossy, dull surface of their eyes, it made him shudder. It made that whisper of a warrior in him cry out.

Haa'aji offered a quick prayer for the druid and then took the man's bags. He didn't wait near the corpse, but rather slipped through the shadows, up into the trees, where he could move more easily. It amazed him that the kaldorei still seemed unaware of how easily trolls could move through tree tops. And it made it so much easier to avoid them when they were too busy patrolling their worn streets.

When he couldn't make out any of the roads or windows—he figured he had to have made his way out into the wilder parts of Teldrassil—he reached up to one of the smaller earrings on his ear. At a glance, most would just think that he enjoyed the look of a piercing or two, but in truth, there wasn't a scrap of cloth or link of chain on him that didn't serve some purpose.

He drummed his fingers against the trinket as he made his way south.

Just as Haa'aji paused to inspect the trinket, to make sure it was the right one he wanted, the world around him darkened as something flew down through the canopy overhead.

Haa'aji watched the black drake circle him once before landing to his side and taking the form of a human man. It watched him with an amused look, standing perfectly still, its arms limp at its sides.

Haa'aji hated doing this. However, there was little point in wasting time with regret, as he was needed elsewhere. Donning an impressed expression, Haa'aji clapped his hands together twice in mock applause. "Ya dragons sure know how ta make a entrance, yeh?"

"If I'd known that was all I needed to do to repay you, I'd have dropped by to visit ages ago," the man replied. His voice was wrong. Dark, cold, like something that was horribly out of tune, so badly so that whatever it had once been was lost completely.

A few leaves nearest the dragon were beginning to wither as though too close to a fire, embers sparking and smoking. Haa'aji sauntered over and extinguished one with his fingers before it could erupt into flames. He looked back at the dragon, a half grin on his face. "If it been dat simple, Ah'd a called for ya ages ago."

"Well, I'm a fan of anticipation as much as the next doomsayer, but do tell what I need to do to get you off my back once and for all."

"Funneh ya should phrase it dat way," Haa'aji couldn't help as his grin became genuine. "Ah be needin' a ride."

~"~

Liila dropped the last of her things into her bag and shouldered it, pausing to watch as Cinder sprawled out on her bed. the druid rolled over onto her stomach, carefully brushing the wrinkles out of the sheets beneath her. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"You spent an hour today crying after you saw an imp," Liila murmured. She placed a hair tie on the edge of her bed and began to bunch her hair up. Before she could pick up the tie, she saw that Cinder had taken it and was winding it slowly around her fingers. "Yesterday you said that that elven warlock at the auction house felt like Nimlia and spent the night crying on my favorite pillow."

Cinder frowned. "You should be supportive of me during my suffering."

"I just don't think it would be good for you to wander around a capital where they spend their leisure tapping demonic energies…or whatever it is that they do."

Tilting her head to the side, Cinder sat up so that she was resting on her knees. "You don't know what it is they do? What kind of fail elf are you?"

Liila chose to dismiss the comment, as it was most likely a result of Cinder's depression, though the druid did, on occasion, lash out for no apparent reason. Regardless of whether it was heartbreak or her typical nature, Liila knew better than to take it personally. Liila plucked her hair tie from Cinder's grasp, some of the hair closest to her face falling out of the ponytail she was holding. "Please remember that you agreed to house sit. Unless Whisper, Margaret, or I come back, do not leave the house alone at night."

"I know."

"Do not let Wrachette house sit. She had a bunch of disclaimer forms she wanted me to sign, and I don't think watching someone's house should be that complicated."

Cinder slouched forward. "I know."

"Do not let Enlyhn or Timmons into the house. They have a game of cursing different household objects and seeing how long it takes us to find them. If Haa'aji comes back before I do—he should—do not let him upstairs. Whisper's still sore about the last trinket he stole from her."

"Allegedly stole, I'm guessing?"

Liila rolled her eyes. "When does anyone ever catch Haa'aji stealing something?"

"Point," Cinder swung her feet off the bed and hopped up. "Don't worry so much. I will guard the fort. None shall pass." She eyed Liila for a moment before cocking her head. "So…I know it's not my business really, which makes it more interesting… but why the hell are you taking the zeppelin? Can't you just yell about how the elves are always mean to you and demand a summons? Or someone here to give you a port?"

Liila checked her belongings one last time. "Wren's brother is being a pain, and he commanded his coven not to summon any—"

"High elf traitors?" Cinder offered.

"I was going to say 'any of Wren's friends'," Liila said, her voice flat. She tugged on the sleeve that covered her scars, wondering briefly if they still emitted any type of latent magic. The sin'dorei picked up on magic better than she did, and she didn't want their attention drawing to her imperfections. They'd be giving her a hard enough time as it was. "This is supposed to be a quiet sort of visit, so they don't want to announce my presence to the whole city. If they arranged a portal for me, then they'd have to make sure everyone who might be there would know not to skewer the high elf. Then it would get out that I was coming and that could cause problems."

Cinder opened her mouth to ask why this Magister Lightsarrow didn't just come to Orgrimmar, but decided against it. She'd heard that the sin'dorei were xenophobic. And even if that wasn't the reason, she doubted that Liila knew it.

"And you're sure you want to go alone?"

Liila took in a slow breath, wondering if this was the powers-that-be's way of warning her not to go. She dismissed the notion as her own nerves playing tricks on her. She was concerned that taking such a roundabout trip would give the mysterious spy tapping into the guild stones a chance to get to her, but then…if he could get onto a Horde zeppelin while they traversed the sea, she figured he probably deserved a shot at her. While the guild had gone silent in regards to their stones for the most part, Liila had continued to use hers to speak with Sethyl and Wren.

And a small part of her sort of wanted to meet this spy. After all, what would be the worst he could do? Kill her?

"I won't be alone," Liila replied as she finally started off on her journey. "Wren and Sethyl will be there. They're…good elves. Besides, the week will give them time to tie up any lose ends."

~"~

Liila sat on the deck of the zeppelin, watching the clouds roll by, the wind slowly sucking them toward the outer reaches of the maelstrom. The dirigible was safe where it was, but she always liked to watch the clouds regardless, half wondering what it would be like to visit the hellish, churning waters. Rumor was that being near the maelstrom was intoxicating, hundreds of times more so than Felwood. She was curious to see if she could get lost in the magic there, if only for a little while. It seemed like it would be fun.

And maybe if she immersed herself in such powerful spells, they would wash away the ones that bound her. Or they might rip her apart.

She frowned, almost missing the soft chime of her guild stone. She drew it from her pocket and tapped it once to see who it was who had messaged her. Sethyl.

_You're on your way, right?_

Liila sighed and scrawled out an affirmative. She hesitated, but began to add a short message about not wanting to speak using the stones too much. However, Sham had taught the two of them how to send personal messages, rather than ones broadcast to all of the stones when they'd first tried to get back in touch with Liila. As a result, she doubted that the Alliance rogue who had everyone so worried would be able to eavesdrop. If he could, then he'd made friends with someone from the black dragon flight. That would present problems of a whole other nature.

Years ago, when she and Haa'aji had headed to Silithus, they'd stumbled across two black drakes being attacked by cultists. It had been during her less stable time, and when they'd pleaded with her to help them, she'd been brought back to the horrors of the Plaguelands, of the people Bloodsworn had tortured besides her, who had pleaded that she aid them, unaware that she couldn't lift a finger unless she was ordered to. She'd had to help them.

And Haa'aji? He'd wanted a mount. In thanks, the drakes had offered them two stones, saying that they could call upon them for assistance. It was merely to settle the score, and Liila's had been used—wasted in Haa'aji's opinion—only days later after the trials and tribulations of Silithus proved too bizarre. And then, in an odd twist of fate, they'd ended up saving the drakes a second time, this time with Timmons and two Cenarion druids. As a result, the drakes owed all of them a favor, Haa'aji two.

Liila thought that it was odd that drakes from the black flight would be so willing to help mortals, but Haa'aji had said he had a feeling they were trying to cover something up. To keep them quiet about the presence of any dragons in Silithus, aside from a few from the bronze flight.

She still sometimes wondered what they'd been up to, were still up to, really. Regardless, it that been those stones that they'd given them which had inspired the guild stones. The draconic ones had been simpler, tap them a few times, and the drakes would know to come. It had been Mitchell who'd figured out how to make them able to transmit full sentences.

Even now, he occasionally harassed everyone for their stones so that he could add small pieces to his spell. Like the ability to direct messages to just one person instead of everyone.

Thus, it was unlikely that there was anyone in the Alliance, or Horde for that matter, who could decipher all of the intricacies of their communications.

Before she could decide whether to send Sethyl a warning to keep their conversation minimal, her stone chimed again.

_Everything's set up._

He went on, telling her the exact date and time for her dreaded/anticipated meeting. Liila stared at her stone, rubbing her finger against its side absentmindedly. She wanted to ask him if he really thought this was a good idea, but stopped herself as her stone chimed again.

_Wren really did most of the work. Pretty much all I've done is relay information._

Liila cocked her head. She didn't understand elves. Was he telling her this hoping that she would reassure him that he was needed? Or was he just stating a fact? Was he downplaying his role? Or trying to make Wren sound more helpful than he'd been?

She twisted her mouth into a half frown as she realized she wished he were with her. If he were sitting next to her, she'd be able to read his face easily. He really wore his heart on his sleeve. She could picture the way his eyebrow twitched when he was indignant or annoyed and the corners of her lips tugged upward in a slight smile.

Her stone chimed again.

_Are you there?_

_Yes._ Liila sighed as she realized she still had no clue what to say. _Thank you._

Before she could write out that while it drove her crazy not knowing if the ring was hers and that at least the suspense would be over soon enough, Sethyl sent her another message.

_I guess you're busy. I'll talk to you when you get here._

How had he gotten so fast at writing? She was generally pretty fast at sending messages herself, but he was beating her. She considered asking him to keep talking to her, but the shadows rolling over the waters below reminded her that that had been the exact thing she'd been hoping to avoid only minutes earlier. She wished him well and slipped the stone back into her pocket, looking back toward the maelstrom, though her thoughts stayed on what was to come.

~"~

Wren took in a slow, steady breath as he stared down the practice dummy, his bow ready, arrow notched. Why had he stayed in Silvermoon for almost two whole weeks? Couldn't he have set things in motion and then gone back to Orgrimmar? It amazed him that he was already as fond of the orcish city as he was, though he supposed that he enjoyed being anywhere his family wasn't.

However, he figured it would be better to get this mess dealt with before they headed to Northrend, and if Sethyl and Liila had to go through all the proper channels, it would take them months to gain a proper audience. All Wren had had to do was call in a few favors. He'd noticed that Sethyl had seemed a bit uncomfortable with how much their arrangements hinged on Wren's connections, but then, Wren had trained with Lor'themar and the captain of the guard. And being the grandson of the grand warlock of Silvermoon did have a few perks, though they didn't quite make up for having a completely dysfunctional family.

Besides, Liila would come tomorrow, find out if this Magister Lightsarrow was her former teacher or not, and then they could both be on their way.

"Wren."

He let his arrow fly into the target, nailing it in the middle of its sack face, before lowering his weapon and turning to see who had called him. A frown planted itself on his face as Jaserisk Dawningblade eyed the target dummy and offered him a compliment on his aim.

Jaserisk was the captain of the guard, whom Wren was finally squaring a debt with. Almost four years ago, some rather bizarre events had led to Wren saving Jaserisk from his brother’s best friend. The offender, Gryst’lyn Emberdawn, had blamed Jaserisk for the disappearance of his fiancé. She’d been one of the first to fall to the Scourge, and had actually been on a patrol with Jaserisk when she went missing. She’d been a childhood friend of the captain or some such, and rather than recognizing that both of them had lost someone dear to them, Gryst’lyn had accused Jaserisk of treachery. Wren had been the one to stay his blade, and Jaserisk had sworn he owed Wren ever since.

Wren had constantly told him not to fret over such things. However now, pulling the strings to get a high elf into the city had to count for something, and Wren was hoping that this would make them even. While Jaserisk was not a bad man, there was something about him that made Wren uneasy, though he could never place what.

Jaserisk was a handsome man, somehow always escaping his battles without so much as a scrape. His blonde hair fell down his back and spilled over his shoulders as he came to stand in front of Wren, still eyeing the dummy.

That he was there when he should have been either going over who the guard would be to escort Liila or already done with the planning of the odd little event was not a good sign.

"I don't suppose you can push back Miss Liila's arrival for about…five hours, can you?"

Wren and Sethyl had made a point not to tell anyone Liila's last name, for fear that people wouldn't take them seriously if they started talking about knowing a Dragonlily, whether she was the legend or not. Wren shrugged. "Why?"

"I have a patrol coming back from the Ghostlands, and they need to be debriefed before they rest." Jaserisk hesitated. "And even if they have little to talk about, I'd rather not risk having some of them mulling about the Sunspire when your friend is to arrive. If one should be coming to see me and have not gotten word to allow her presence, it could go very poorly for your friend." He gave Wren a half grin. "I'd also like a chance to freshen up after dealing with my men, since a few of the ones coming in find themselves tripping over the rules or taking shortcuts that leave piles of bodies ripe for the Scourge to pluck and add to their armies. I may need to yell at them, but I don't need to look like I've been in a fickle mood, especially when escorting a high elf around."

"Wait, you're seeing to Liila's escort personally?" Wren frowned. He'd assumed that there would merely be a guard or two sent along with him and Sethyl.

It was Jaserisk's turn to frown. "The only reason Lor'themar is allowing your little friend into the city is because I told him I would be responsible for her. You'd better believe I'm going to be there."

Wren eyed him for a moment and then nodded, not sure why such a matter would bother him. "I see."

"You have a problem with that?" Jaserisk's voice trailed off as he watched his fellow farstrider. "I may have no love of the quel'dorei, but I promise you, I will not harm another member of the Horde. We do not need them to rescind their offers of aid because of a single creature."

As Wren nodded, Jaserisk turned to leave. "You said five hours later?"

"That's the longest it should take, yes," Jaserisk paused. "You…Adrias said your guild communicates fast enough to be able to get word to her, correct?"

Wren nodded again, and the captain gave him a half wave before striding off to tend to whatever duties might be awaiting him. Wren waited until Jaserisk was out of sight before reaching into his pocket for his guild stone. He stilled as his fingers fished through the cloth and found nothing. He felt his other pockets and then patted down his shirt as though it had somehow fallen in there.

As his eye twitched, he searched his quiver and then barely took the time to gather his cloak before hurrying home to check his bags. Surely he hadn't lost his stone.

~"~

Adrias Duskflame frowned as the woman he'd been playfully stripping gasped and jerked her shirt back up to cover her ample bosom. The warlock turned his gaze slowly to see Wren standing in his doorway, looking ready to kill something. Even as the woman tried to decide whether she ought to say it was rude to barge in like that or that she supposed she could be persuaded into a three-way, Wren stalked over to the bed and grabbed Adrias by his robe, which was barely resting on his shoulders.

"What did you do with my things?"

"Your things? Can't say that I've done anything with them. Though…there are a few _things_ I'd like to play with at the moment…If you don't mind," Adrias gave the woman a wink, and she bit her lip so as not to laugh.

"The stone you took from my bags. I need it back." Wren tried to fight the urge to just put an arrow between his brother's eyes. Fratricide was illegal, after all.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Adrias said, his expression growing bored. Wren shook him once, and his long black hair fell into his face. As he irritably reached up to brush it away, he set his jaw. "I don't see why you have to blame me for everything you lose."

Wren caught the jibe. Adrias was referring to his wife, who the damnable warlock had bedded the night after they'd been married. Adrias took everything from Wren. The farstrider took in a slow, angry breath. "I need to talk to Liila—" He cut himself off as he considered he would be telling his brother the correct time. "I need to tell her about a few laws that she might not be aware of, and it would be best to get it out of the way before she gets here."

"Well," Adrias jerked his robe free from Wren's grasp and settled back onto his bed, leaning against his elbows, "wish I could help you, but I don't know anything about any stone."

Wren watched him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before shaking his head. "I want it back. If I catch you with it, I _will_ hurt you." Even as Adrias laughed at the thought of his baby brother kicking his ass, Wren stalked back toward the door, though he paused, his hand on the door knob.

"Oh, miss?" When the elven lady gave him a curious look, he motioned with his chin toward his brother. "To get off, he pretends you're a man."

Wren ducked out of view and slammed the door before Adrias could hit him with a curse, even as the elf turned a wide-eyed look to the seething warlock.

~"~

Tyan Dawnslight grinned as she darted up behind Sethyl and put her hands over his eyes. "Guess who!"

"Tyan." Sethyl grinned as she pulled her hands away and turned to face her. Her curly brown hair framed her face as she smiled broadly up at him, her green eyes dancing.

"It's great to see you! You're never around anymore!" She looped her arm with his, and he laughed as he offered her that he was in a guild, of all things. Even as she commented that he must be having fun, to have dropped off the face of Azeroth as he had, a few other paladins trotted up, equally thrilled to see their brother in arms. Playful insults and greetings were tossed around as the group caught up.

While Sethyl listened and laughed to a story of farstrider/blood knight rivalry from a towheaded man named Ralarr Sunbreeze, Tyan hugged Sethyl's arm and leaned against him. She'd had a thing for him since they'd first started training together to become paladins, and now that she'd found him in town, she sure as hell wasn't going to let him go without at least a night of flirtatious drinking and nostalgia.

"It's so awesome that you're in town." She beamed as the conversation lulled. She and the others had been heading back into the city from a patrol through Eversong to make sure the Scourge wasn't making another attempt to push through. Their course back to their headquarters took them past the Sunblade's shop, and Tyan always stared at it longingly whenever she passed by, wondering what had become of her crush. To have seen him entering his shop as they were passing by. If she had a lucky star, it was watching over her tonight. "Your timing's perfect, you know. Another day and you'd have missed me. I'm heading out tomorrow to Orgrimmar."

"Oh?" Sethyl laughed, though he managed to hold his ground as she tried to tug him toward the door of the shop. The other knights seemed to have caught on to the fact that Tyan wanted to take Sethyl out on the town to celebrate all of them being together again, and they were all for it. Sethyl, on the other hand, wasn't up for staying up all night. While he enjoyed Tyan and Ralarr's company—the others too—he wanted to get plenty of rest so that he could be alert and a decent guard for Liila the next day, should that responsibility fall to him. "I don't think you'll like it there. It's horribly dry. You take a breath in, and it's like your lungs are getting cooked."

Tyan giggled and reached up to touch his hair. "Is that why you're sporting such a shaggy look now? The heat melts hair gel?"

Running his fingers through his hair, he frowned. When he'd gotten home, he'd found that he just didn't feel like being so high maintenance and had merely been letting it dry so that it fell across his forehead and against the nape of his neck. No one had mentioned anything when he'd gone with Wren to explain things to Captain Dawningblade or any of the others they'd consulted with. Had they thought him a slob?

"There you go, lost in thoughts, as usual," Tyan teased and tugged lightly on a few locks of his hair. "I like it. It's different."

Sethyl caught her hand and nodded to her, his smile still in place. "I don't suppose we could catch up in the morning, could we?"

Tyan paused, smile slipping. "Well, I'm leaving around noon—"

"Great timing. I'm meeting a friend about then. I could walk you to the orb." He put his hand on her back as he walked her toward the door of his father's shop. "Drop you off and pick her up."

Tyan froze at the word 'her'. The other paladins barely caught it, until they saw disappointment overtake her. Ralarr slung an arm around Sethyl's shoulders. "What, your new friends are more important than your old ones?"

"I didn't mean it that way," Sethyl replied automatically and then frowned as he tried to think of how best to approach the subject.

Tyan pulled away from him and ran her hand along her arm. "If he needs to be somewhere—"

"I just think…" Ralarr shrugged, locking gazes with Sethyl calmly. "I mean…you're willing to mold your schedule around her and not us?"

"No, not at all."

"Good," Ralarr slapped Sethyl on the back and caught Tyan under his other arm as one of the other paladins opened the door to the shop. "Come on. Just have a few drinks with us." He gave Sethyl a knowing grin. "We'll be sure to get you home in time to show your new friend around."

~"~

Wren knocked on the door to Sunblade's Jewelers and offered a quick apology as an older elf opened the door, looking somewhat disgruntled to have a visitor so late at night. However, as he saw the fine clothes Wren was sporting—clearly a noble's attire—he opened the door a bit further.

"How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for Sethyl Sunblade." Wren hesitated and glanced back at the sign over the door to the shop. "I know that his family owns a jewelry store, so I was hoping this was it…."

"Sethyl's my son," the older elf offered and stepped to the side, motioning for Wren to come in. He thanked whatever might be out there for the dim light of the room to hide his disappointment that his late visitor wasn't a customer. "You can wait for him if you'd like, though I don't know when he'll be home."

Wren paused, just inside the shop as the older elf closed the door. "He's out?"

"Mmhm," his host nodded and motioned for Wren to come upstairs to the residential part of the building. Wren followed politely, and the older elf led him into a small kitchen. "He said he'd be back in an hour four hours ago so…if I knew what bar I thought he might be, I'd tell you where to go." He paused to offer Wren something to drink, and the farstrider politely accepted tea. "He doesn't normally stay out late, so he should be home sooner than later."

"Alright, thank you," Wren took his cup and sipped slowly.

Silence settled over the two for a moment, the older elf having seated himself across from Wren. As the old house creaked with the wind, Wren noticed his host looked like he was debating asking him something.

"Is something on your mind?" Wren offered him the opportunity.

"I…don't suppose you're in my son's guild, are you?" When Wren nodded, the older elf perked up. "Can you…if it's not too much trouble, can you tell me how he's been? What he's been up to? He's such an odd young elf when it comes to his accomplishments. Hasn't said much about what he's been doing the last few months, aside from a few offhanded comments."

Wren smiled and nodded. "Well, I can tell you that he's been helping out our guild mate Liila…."

~"~

Adrias sat in his chair at his desk, leaning against one of the armrests with a hand covering his mouth as he stared at a small stone in front of him. Was this little trinket really worth having his evening ruined?

His latest conquest had been somewhat turned off—not by the notion of sleeping with a male elf who appreciated both genders, but rather because she didn’t want to be with someone who wanted her as anything other than what she was. A lady.

As he considered whether he ought to break the stupid trinket and then plant it somewhere for Wren to find so that the pitiful excuse of a brother would be forced to apologize for jumping to conclusions, the stone suddenly flickered to life with a soft chime and he nearly missed the runes that flickered over its surface.

He jerked upright and leaned over the stone to see if they might reappear.

_Wren? Are you there?_

He tilted his head as he watched the runes flicker for a moment and then fade out. He pondered how the little device might work. If it was voice activated, he'd be screwed, but then…if it was voice activated, wouldn't he have heard one?

He hesitated another moment and then ran his finger over the stone, making sure to write in orcish.

_Hey._

The word flickered and disappeared. A grin slowly spread across Adrias' pale features. He ran his finger across the stone again.

_Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?_

The stone was blank for a moment, and Adrias wondered if perhaps he were using it wrong. Just as he was about to give up and return to his plans to break it, it burst to life again with that ever so pleasant little chime.

_I was wondering if everything is still in order for tomorrow. I tried asking Sethyl, but he's not responding to any of my messages._

Adrias couldn't believe his luck. This had to be that little Liila wench Wren and his common friend had been trying to help. He considered telling her that everything was canceled, but thought better of it. He was sure that Wren had mentioned she was a high elf to their grandfather when he’d initially tried to ask for the coven to summon her, before Adrias had insisted they not.

If she was a high elf…

_Actually, the time was moved. Can you come an hour early?_

~"~

Liila's shoulders slumped as the runes on her stone flickered out. An hour early? She'd been hoping, praying really, that they'd say that Lor'themar or Rommath or someone else who was important had been appalled at the thought of letting a high elf into their city and had killed the plans at the last minute.

One of the zeppelin's crew's snoring interrupted her sulking, and she glanced toward the little goblin. She wished Wren a pleasant night and slipped her stone back into her pocket after the sentiment was returned.

Slipping up onto the deck, Liila walked out toward the nose of the ship and let the cool shadows of the night overtake her senses as the wind fluttered her hair. She closed her eyes and felt the night engulf her, whisper to her, and lull away her worries, if only for a while. It was nice to take the zeppelin across the ocean from time to time. And this way, she wouldn't have to avoid Sylvanas by arriving at the portal point in Undercity. Surely, the Banshee Queen wouldn't be angry for her walking through the surface ruins of Lordaeron.

However, her mind was too active to let her be. Timmons wasn't answering any of her messages on his emergency stone. Haa'aji was still trying to get home from Darnasus, so far as she knew. Gregor had gone fishing to work through his frustrations about something Mitchell had done, and Mitchell had buried himself in his work. Whisper was still in Thunder Bluff, and Blood had gone after Leafless and Shadow to warn them about their stones. The knights had yet to return.

Enlyhn wasn't talking to anyone. While the coven war had ended rather anticlimactically, out of the public eye, just as it had started, the orc was still feeling like the guild just kept him around for his summons and was boycotting the whole lot of them. That or he was over it and had found a new playmate for a while. She couldn't contact Tizzle or Sprocket for fear that whoever was eavesdropping might catch wind.

Margaret was still in the Undercity, as far as Liila was aware. Sham, in turn, had decided to finally have them teach her a bit about the different potions so that Timmons and Haa'aji could no longer screw her over and it was her intention to spend some time shadowing Cinder, who was still a wreck from her break up. Cloudless and Wrachette were teaming up to look into the housing market, and Ta'lim and Gore would be busy with their jobs. Roberts was in a black out mission, not that she would have risked messaging him anyway, and Khai'rhi and Genji were too adorably in love and lust to pay much mind to anyone outside of their little romance.

Howl was still working overtime to make the weapons for Garrosh's kor'kron guard and that left Lash. Unfortunately, he had headed to Ashenvale a few days prior on some mission that he hadn't wanted to tell anyone about.

It was like the universe was conspiring against Liila, forcing her to go alone to Silvermoon. She'd told Cinder she didn't mind going by herself, and at the time it had been true enough. Now however… Why wasn't Sethyl responding? Was he asleep? Had something happened to him? Was he mad at her for not talking to him the other night?

Heading back to her hammock, she hoped that she'd be able to get some sleep. The last thing she needed was to look like a half-dead rat when she presented herself to the magister.

~"~

Tyan tried not to let her frustration show as she headed toward the translocation orb. Last night had been a disaster. Sure, after Ralarr had gotten a few drinks in Sethyl, he'd gone back to his usual, cocky self and had been a total blast to be around.

They'd rattled off memories and talked about just about everything, though Sethyl seemed at first reserved to talk about his guild and where he'd been the last few months. But when he finally did start talking about them, he wouldn't shut up. Especially when it came to Liila.

She frowned at the name. That had to be who he was meeting.

And that Ralarr. After he'd gotten Sethyl drunk enough, he'd turned to Tyan and teased her that their friend was drunk enough that he wouldn't be able to tell if she brought him back to her place instead of his. She _had_ taken him home, but not for that. She hadn't wanted Ralarr and the others to abandon him in a bar or send him home with some random elf.

Sethyl hadn't even realized what she was doing for him. He'd been laughing and joking with her the whole way…and talking about how he thought she'd like Liila, if she got to know her.

Liila, Liila, Liila.

She wanted to kill the wench.

When she'd gotten Sethyl to her couch, he'd passed out almost instantly. She'd spent years pining for him, and he'd gone off and fallen for the first elf he'd seen in Orgrimmar. Orgrimmar! Maybe the heat had played tricks on his mind. She scolded herself as she tried to think of things that must be wrong with any self-respecting elf who might run a shop and own a house in the orcish capital. Liila was probably a perfectly nice young lady.

Regardless, Tyan had headed out early. She didn't want to run into Liila. She'd probably just end up saying something mean, take her wrath out on someone who really didn't deserve it. She'd have to remember to yell at Ralarr the next time she saw him, though.

Tyan slowed her pace as she started up the ramp toward the orb. Was Sethyl awake yet? Her eyes widened as she realized how stupid she'd been. She'd wanted to slip out without having to hear about Liila again and had figured that she would let him sleep.

She really should have woken him up. He was probably going to be late to meet his little Liila. But then…the whole tour guide thing was just an excuse, right? No elf really needed a guide for the city. Even the sin'dorei who still lived out on the country or in the few southern towns still intact knew that they just needed to ask a guard if they were lost.

Was it like some sort of date?

Just as Tyan was wondering if she could make it back to her house to wake Sethyl and still make it to the zeppelin before it left, the orb's arrival platform a few feet behind her glimmered and made a soft humming noise. She wouldn't have given it a second thought, except that the person who appeared behind her did not have the magical presence of a sin'dorei at all.

As she glanced over her shoulder her gaze met a pale blue one, and her head tilted slowly to the side before a little voice in the back of her head told her that the Light was offering her a stress release.

The small quel'dorei woman in front of her looked confused and had just opened her mouth to ask a question when Tyan drew her sword.


	23. Fallout

Renza'shi and Murk stood straight and tall in front of the grand warlock of Orgrimmar, though in the backs of their minds, they wanted nothing more than to hurry back out into the sunlight. It would figure that warlocks would have taken over the darkest, sketchiest part of the city. Just once, Renza'shi would like to see warlocks of the rainbow coven. Their enemies would be so stunned by a cheerful warlock that they'd probably die from shock, before the caster could even get a spell off.

The grand warlock inspected the documents that Murk had handed him, almost twenty minutes ago. So far, he hadn't said a word. Renza'shi was getting tired of standing around, and he wanted in the very least to set his two-hander down. He'd just gotten in a few days ago. Howl's smithing was renowned, and Renza'shi had been thrilled when Howl had agreed to take his order, agreeing that he could wait to pay for it once it was complete. However, when Renza'shi had returned for it, on the day Howl had specified, he'd been somewhat confused and insulted when one of Howl's former apprentices presented him a weapon instead. Howl hadn't even looked his way. The apprentice had apologized and explained that Howl was horribly busy and that Garrosh seemed to be applying more pressure daily to get the armor for his guard finished, like he thought that Howl was slacking off in some way.

Renza'shi had thanked the apprentice and gone on his way, but he wasn't sure that he really bought the orc's story.  Was it really just because Howl was so busy, or was there some underlying meaning to the orc handing off his project?

The troll had to wonder if his axe were somehow cursed. By Howl or the grand warlock. While he could normally carry a weapon around for days while he traveled, standing in front of Orgrimmar's master of darkness for a mere twenty minutes had left his shoulders weak and him wondering if someone had added a few dozen weights to his weapon.

Finally, Renza'shi slipped the weapon off his back and went to set the large, two sided axe on the ground. However, no sooner had it made a soft, dull thud against the dusty earth, he felt eyes upon him and looked up to see that the grand warlock had turned his focus upon him. With a nervous twitch in his forced smile, Renza'shi lifted his axe back up and slung it back over his shoulder.

He'd never quite been able to grasp the concept of magic, and it made him somewhat uncomfortable. As a result, he tried not to piss off casters who were on his side and tried to kill enemy casters first.

Murk coughed into his hand, capturing the warlock's attention so as to help relieve his guild mate's unease. "Sir, we really just need a confirmation that you will deal with the—"

"You bring me a list of warlocks...in my coven...who are secretly dealing with the Alliance, and you think there is a chance I will do nothing to them? Do you think _I_ am secretly working for the Alliance?"

Murk ducked his head in respect. "No, sir. Please forgive us if we seem to push the matter, but Hellscream wants verbal confirmation that matters will be dealt with swiftly. He doesn't want to leave behind any problems when he heads to Northrend."

The grand warlock's gaze dropped back toward the list. "And here I thought Taknar was your guild leader."

"We're all members of the Horde," Murk murmured, though he frowned when he noticed the grand warlock smirk and shake his head.

"I suppose the Horde is lucky to have such willing drones," the warlock smiled at both of them and then paused, his gaze moving past them. He checked the papers they'd give him and then walked past them, putting an arm around a young orc's shoulders who had just happened to have been walking by, and began to lead him deeper into the drag. "Gresh Darkblood, right? I'd like to talk to you about some of your achievements...in private, of course...."

Renza'shi and Murk watched as two other warlocks noticed the happenings and quick-stepped up to follow their leader, with the young traitor looking over his shoulder, with slight confusion as they led him away from prying eyes.

Renza'shi frowned. He was all for eliminating traitors, but this seemed low, even in his eyes. While he supposed that someone needed to weed out the disloyal and deal with them, he still didn't see why Blood and Honor had been chosen. Over the last few weeks, they'd been focusing their resources on looking into other guilds and organizations in the Horde, prying into private lives and sniffing out spies.

Anyone who had been reluctant to assist had been investigated as well. It made Renza'shi uncomfortable. He didn't like knowing how little privacy they had. At the single request of an orc who'd barely been in the Horde for a year, no less. Thrall was giving Hellscream too much power. Or did Thrall even know about this inquisition?

Murk let out a long sigh and turned his back on the Cleft. Like many, when the investigation had first been explained to them, he'd been honored to help keep Orgrimmar safe. However, when he'd learned just how far they had to go, how intrusive their searches really were, it had begun to weigh down on him. Even if they were finding a few spies here and there, was it really worth all this? Sneaking in the shadows, scrutinizing friends' actions, watching as people slowly put pieces together and began to avoid them. They might not know what the search was for, but people—Sham and Howl among others—knew that something was amiss and their conversations with anyone from Blood and Honor had become strained at best.

When all this passed, things could still return to how they'd been, couldn't they? The traitors would be dealt with, and everyone else would be able to return to their lives. Murk's shoulders sunk when he couldn't convince himself of this. He wanted to ask Renza'shi what he thought, but no one in Blood and Honor was daring to voice their concerns, lest it get back to Hellscream or Taknar. The last thing they needed was to be labeled as sympathizers to traitors.

The two had started walking, heading back toward the Drag. Their feet were willing to drag them by Whisper's Vials to see how Whisper and Impervious were doing, but as soon as their consciousness caught on, they'd end up just going back to their guild hall. It had been happening over and over the last few days. It felt wrong to go to their old hang outs, joke with anyone outside of their guild.

They felt like the traitors.

Both men stopped just short of the sunlight in the Drag as a hand took each of them by a shoulder. Renza'shi turned to see who it was first and paused, his expression tired. "Enlyhn."

Of all the guilds and such being investigated, he had a feeling Impervious would catch on first. He braced himself for accusations and curses, but Enlyhn merely frowned, darkness beginning to flicker around his hands. "Stick around. I need help summoning."

Murk glanced over his shoulder, not fully turning toward him. "Can't you get someone from your coven?"

"Some matters have risen in the cleft, and it would be better not to summon anyone down there until everything's been dealt with."

Renza'shi and Murk exchanged a wary look, though they agreed to help. As the summons circle faded, they stared at the two goblins at their feet, mildly perplexed that Enlyhn would summon neutral creatures to Orgrimmar. Enlyhn arched his eyebrows as he looked at the slightly taller of the goblins, a mage with a huge chunk missing out of one of his ears. Dried blood still spattered his robes, and they could see a few places where he had been cut. He was ladled down with bags, fine cloths and other random artifacts sticking out from the tops of the satchels, some of which looked ready to burst at their seams. The other goblin, a priest, was carrying hardly anything.

"Damn, Sprocket. What happened to you?"

"Those damn Alliance bastards, that's what!" the goblin snapped, pointing a finger up at him as though he'd had something to do with it. "This world is goin' crazy! They attack me in my own damn shop and then...." He paused and looked over at the goblin priest beside him.

"They burned down my tavern," Tizzle murmured, looking toward the ground. "Wrachette didn't make it."

Enlyhn stared at the duo's downcast faces and then frowned. "Wrachette's already here. I summoned her three days ago."

"What?" Both goblins cried out, eyes snapping up.

"She said she left you a note, though I suppose you wouldn't get it if the tavern burned down...." Enlyhn muttered, rolling one of his shoulders. "She's probably at Whisper's Vials, if not, Cinder will know where she is."

"Cinder's back?" Sprocket asked, already perking up. Tizzle, on the other hand, seemed lost to shock. His sister was alive. He'd spent the last seventy-two hours tearing Booty Bay apart looking for any sign of her before finally giving up and accepting that she was gone, that he'd failed her.

And she was alive?

He was gonna murder her for leaving without so much as a goodbye.

Enlyhn shifted his weight and nudged Tizzle with his foot. "Why don't you ask these two to show you to the shop? I need to go do horrible things to morally skewed individuals."

"Ah, sure..." Sprocket said, grabbing Tizzle by the arm and turning him to face Renza'shi and Murk. However, before he could offer a proper introduction, Enlyhn coughed into his hand, and the goblins looked back up at him.

"Buffs. I didn't summon you for nothing."

"Yeah, yeah, Light be with ya," Tizzle snapped hurriedly, finally drawing himself out of his stupor. He threw his hands in the air and everyone within a twenty-yard radius found themselves suddenly filled with a sense of holy Light, fortifying their wills and consciences. Enlyhn's eyebrow twitched as he crushed down the little voice in the back of his head trying to tell him to be merciful to the victims of whatever witch hunt was going on in his coven and gave them a half wave as he walked off.

Renza'shi and Murk stared blankly after him before they felt two gazes boring into them and looked back down at the goblins. Both stood with their arms crossed. The mage inspected them more carefully than the priest, taking note of their gear. "Ya two in a war guild?"

"Talk and walk, friends." Tizzle snapped before they could respond. "We ain't gettin' any closer ta Whisper's Vials." Though Renza'shi wanted to chase down Enlyhn and have him take care of the goblins, Murk merely motioned down the road and began to lead the way. Renza'shi followed after them, for lack of anything to do. After all, a report that the warlocks were having a field day on each other could wait.

Tizzle eyed the different buildings they passed, reading the signs hanging over them under his breath, his mouth forming a thin line whenever he wasn't mumbling. Renza'shi had nearly zoned out when he felt a large hand tug his own. Tizzle was scurrying along beside him, taking three steps for every one of the troll's. Renza'shi was amazed the little creature wasn't tired out already and wondered if he ought to tell Murk to slow the pace.

"So...ya in a war guild, huh?" When Renza'shi nodded, Tizzle thought it over. "I thought all them guilds were war ones."

"Ah, nah mon." Renza'shi shrugged. "War guilds be focusin' on fightin' de Alliance. Otha guilds fight enemies that not claim one of de main factions. Dea be all kinds, t'ough."

"There's a guild of individuals who focus on working the auction house," Murk offered. "Some of the richest people in Orgrimmar are in it, though they don't ever venture far beyond the city's gates."

Sprocket and Tizzle exchanged a glance before Sprocket tilted his head back to meet Murk's gaze. "Ya gotta hook me up with them, yeah? Maybe we can be of use to each other."

Renza'shi cocked his head. "Ya lookin' fa a guild—"

"I'm a foundin' member of Impervious," Tizzle snapped, and both Murk and Renza'shi looked down at him in surprise. "What ya think a goblin can't be Horde?" Tizzle stuck his chin out, though he nearly tripped over his robes as he tried to look proud. He caught himself and glared at his feet before shrugging. "Sprocket here's in Impervious, too. But me and Wrachette? Ya can check the guild charter...if the Alliance can find our charter, I'm sure ya can, too."

Both Murk and Renza'shi stopped in their tracks, despite the desperate glares from the little priest at their feet. "What?"

"Ya guys should be watchin' ya backs, too, I suppose," Sprocket offered, pointing up at them. "If they can get ta Impervious' information, they can get ta ya guild's too. And since ya guys are fightin' them, I bet they pay more attention ta ya than they did us."

"Oh, yeah," Tizzle spat. "'Cause nearly murderin' ya and destroyin' my livelihood was just a glance for them, right?" Tizzle rolled his eyes. "Ya guys fight a lot a rogues?"

"Killed meh share," Renza'shi shrugged while Murk merely nodded.

"Think we could hire ya ta go after a specific one?" Tizzle asked. "Sprocket here can describe him. He came snoopin' around first, and then the rest of the Alliance decided we weren't 'choosin'' sides fast enough and wham!"

Sprocket reached up and rubbed his ear. "If we'd a stayed long enough for an investigation, they woulda kicked us out of the Cartel. So we're officially Horde now. Bit of a shame, really. Used ta be able to give ya guys a heads up if the Alliance were talking about raidin' one of the cities. I suppose ya guy's will manage on ya own, though."

As Tizzle scanned the street again, he narrowed his eyes, looking ahead. Of all the goblins he knew, he'd always had the best eye sight, and it was times like this when he truly appreciated it. He could just make out an alchemy shop sign a few blocks down, with what he was fairly certain spelled out Whisper's Vials on it, one word above and one below the picture.

Deciding the others could stand around and talk, or follow, he began toward it. Sprocket shifted a few of his bags and began to teeter after his guild mate. Murk reached a hand down toward him. "Do you need a hand? That looks heavy—"

"If I'd needed a pack mule, I woulda brought one," Sprocket snapped, eyeing the orc's hand as it came too close to his belongings.

Renza'shi pulled Murk back as they drew closer to the shop. With a quick nod of respect, he addressed the two goblins who eyed him with skeptical curiosity as he continued to draw Murk away. "Ah tink we gonna look inta dat rogue for ya, yeh? 'N ya can see de shop from hea, so...."

"Right!" Sprocket nodded, giving them a half grin. "Ya guys work fast. I like it. Let us know if ya find that bastard."

"Screw findin' him," Tizzle crossed his arms. "Let us know when ya kill him."

Murk frowned and jerked his arm free from his guild mate's grasp, though after a quick glare from Renza'shi, he followed after the troll in silence. At first, he thought they were heading back to their guild hall, however, when they came to the corner they would have turned to head toward it, Renza'shi went straight, instead slipping between two buildings across the way. When they were in the shadows, he climbed up a few stacked crates and offered Murk a hand in climbing up onto the roofs of the buildings.

From there, they followed along the wall until they came to a small chasm, just barely big enough for the two of them to squeeze into. It was thin, but wound its way several yards into the rock before coming to an end. Murk let out an exasperated sigh as his guild mate began to climb the wall, wondering just what was going on that they needed to go to such drastic measures.

The wall proved to have been carved with notches at even intervals, allowing for easy climbing. When they reached the top, Renza'shi stretched his back and then dropped down to the ground, legs crossed.

They'd come up to one of the flat, barren plateaus surrounding Orgrimmar, and Murk could smell the ocean air as a breeze swept past them, kicking up dirt as it tugged mercilessly on the scraggly plants around them.

Renza'shi looked around them with simple satisfaction. "When Org was first bein' built, me 'n meh brotha found de way up hea. We used ta come up hea all de time...den de stores got built t'rough de Drag 'n meh brotha got killed 'n Ah kinda forgot dis place existed, yeh? But it be good for tinkin'. Good for talkin'."

Murk sat across from him, tugging at the wrinkles in his kilt. "So talk."

"About what de goblins been sayin'," Renza'shi hesitated, looking down as he rested his hands on his knees. "Ya know Ah die for de Horde, yeh?"

"As would I."

Twisting his mouth into a frown, his cheek twitched as part of the skin caught on what was left of his tusks. He'd tried to file down what was left so that it wouldn't spike him, and he'd done a decent job, but it still sometimes caught him off guard. He'd tried to have them completely removed once, but his friend, who had offered to help him, had startled him, and he'd accidentally bitten down on the other troll's fingers.

Less than a week later, someone else had scolded him, asking him how he was gonna close his jaw properly if he were missing all of his tusks. It had been a valid point, and as a result, he'd left the stubs in, if only to keep his jaws working properly.

"Lisp volunteered ta look inta Impervious, since he used ta be one of dem, yeh?" When Murk nodded, he ran his fingers through his hair. "'n rememba how he got that trinket? De one dat make him look like he be a breathin' human?"

"The orb of deception?" Murk remembered it well. They'd been traveling through Desolace when they'd come to the aid of an injured orcess, only to find that she was really a human in disguise. After killing her, Murk had been ready to destroy the orb when Lisp had stopped him, pointing out that there could be uses for such a trinket. Though Murk loathed the thought of using trickery to win a battle, he also knew that winning a war took all kinds.  He couldn't assume that Lisp was less of a hero of the Horde, just because he thought differently. So he'd let him take the trinket.

On occasion, Lisp had used it, sneaking into enemy lines in the Arathi Basin, promising to secure an area by himself or with a lone healer only to dispatch them as soon as the other Alliance was out of range to rush back and save their comrade. However, he couldn't use such tricks too often, for the Alliance did learn from their mistakes. He'd nearly been killed once when none of the Alliance dogs could remember seeing him when they were first gathering and planning.

Murk paused. "You think Lisp would attack those goblins?"

"Nah mon," Renza'shi waved his hand quickly. "Not like dat. Dey said dea been a rogue come first, den otha Alliance act aftawa’ds, yeh? Ah tink Lisp started sumtin’ wit' out realizin' what."

Murk considered what had happened. Would Lisp really threaten members of his former guild, just to get them to declare a side once and for all? And would he really be careless enough to let their enemies over hear his threats, unwittingly outing the covert Horde members to the Alliance?

"You brought me all the way up here, just to say that?" Murk furrowed his brow, the corners of his mouth dipping down.

"Ah didn't want ‘nehone eavesdroppin'," Renza'shi muttered. He hesitated and slouched his shoulders forward, leaning toward Murk. "'n Ah was wonderin' if...if it happened like dat ta dem goblins, how many otha Hordes' lives been put in danga by dis inquireh, yeh? How maneh a dem maybe pretend ta give information ta de Alliance so dat dey can get info on de enemeh. Maybe we be doin' more bad den good."

"I've been wondering that myself," Murk whispered.

~"~

Both Renza'shi and Murk trudged toward their guild hall, their feet seemingly made of lead. While it was refreshing to know that they weren't alone in thinking something amiss with their whole ordeal, it was also disheartening to know that it hadn't just been in their heads.

As they continued down the street, someone flew into Murk, nearly toppling him over. When he managed to catch himself, he turned in time to see Mitchell as the meek mage jerked his bag back onto his shoulder and inspected the contents inside, hurrying away and cursing about something getting jostled.

"Ya be okay?" Renza'shi called out, instinctively more so than anything else, expecting a quick 'I'm fine', if anything at all.

Mitchell, however, stopped dead in his tracks and looked up. As he noticed their curious stares, he snapped his satchel shut and straightened up out of the typical forsaken hunch, his eyebrows pulled down in what might have been a glare, had they been able to see his eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

Renza'shi blinked, slightly taken aback. "Just saw ya lookin' worried 'n t'ought Ah'd ask—"

"About what?" Mitchell hissed, clawing at his bag and holding it to his chest. "There's nothing wrong. I'm a damned apothecary in the Society so if I want to use those resources, I'm welcome to them!"

"O…kay, mon."

Mitchell muttered something under his breath and started to walk away, but paused and abruptly turned back to them, stalking up to stand in front of them so that he could poke his finger accusingly into Renza'shi's chest. "I'm tired of all of you guys asking me questions! The death stalkers first, now Blood and Honor? I shouldn't need to start every conversation saying that I work for the Dark Lady, got it? I am a _loyal_ minion!"

Renza'shi and Murk were at a loss for words. Had Lisp simply gone around offending or attacking everyone in his old guild?

Mitchell threw his hands up in the air as he turned to walk away. "Next you'll be accusing me of blowing up the apothecary lab...that was Calvin, in case you need clarification."

Murk and Renza'shi stared after the spastic mage as he practically ran from them toward the flightmaster. Just as the two were about ready to brush off the odd encounter, Margaret jogged up to them, waving her arms to get their attention. "Have you seen Mitchell? I know he came this way." As the two pointed over their shoulders, she offered them a quick nod, but paused, just before passing them. With narrowed eyes, she caught them both in a frost nova. "If I find out either of you or anyone in Blood and Honor had anything, and I mean anything, to do with destroying Mitchell's cauldron, I will have myself a Light-damned flock of sheep, do you hear me? Mitchell was working really hard, and there was no reason to ruin his experiments!"

With that, she raced off after Mitchell.

Renza'shi stared after Margaret, his expression blank. "De hell be goin' on in dat guild?"

Murk merely shook his head, grumbling about people acting crazy since the ghoul attack.

When they finally made it back to their guild hall, doing their best to ignore the few glares from other denizens of Orgrimmar, they found the place to be empty. With a sigh, Murk strode toward the back of the hall and rummaged through a shelving unit until he found some spare parchment. He fumbled through his bags without looking until he found his quill and then turned to go to the nearest table to write Taknar a letter about how the traitors among the warlocks were being dealt with. His intention had been to leave the note and persuade Renza'shi to head to a warfront with him so that neither of them would get roped into anymore tasks for Hellscream's pet project.

However, as he turned, barely registering that Renza'shi was inspecting their guild's message board for upcoming battles, he paused. He was certain that the hall had been empty when they'd arrived, but sitting at the center most table was Haa'aji, his fingers clasped and resting on his stomach as his feet rested against the table, his chair standing on its back two legs and creaking softly.

Renza'shi heard the rogue chuckle and turned quickly, hand on his axe. Haa'aji didn't even look toward the other troll. Instead he kept his eyes locked on Murk. While he had a pleasant smile playing on his lips, there was a harshness in his eyes that made Murk uneasy.

"Aftanoon, gentamen," Haa'aji said, as though he were merely bumping into them on the street. "Don't suppose eitha a ya have seen Lisp around lateleh?"

Murk stopped on the opposite side of the table, though he made no attempt to sit down. He wanted to ask what Haa'aji was doing there, though he had a damned decent idea why. Besides, Haa'aji had a tendency of not answering questions, anyway. "I'll tell him you stopped by."

"No need," Haa'aji shrugged. He inspected Murk and then nodded toward him with his chin. "So what be de deal, yeh? Ya weedin' out de baddies?"

"We really can't talk about guild matters with—"

"So don't be talkin' den," Haa'aji interrupted. "But lissen. If ya be followin' theories 'n de like, what ya be doin' is great. Howeva, ya bein' too obvious. Ya got some people who be spies, some who pretend, yeh? Ya leavin' de pretends alone 'n just takin' out de real spies...fa de most part. In meh guild's case, ya actualleh incited Alliance agressions toward de membas dat been vital to some of our intel gatherin', but we work t'rough it. We adapt. Ah be worried about de less adaptable guilds...'n de Horde as a whole."

Murk frowned and finally took a seat. "What do you want us to do? Kill people loyal to the Horde?"

"If ya realleh wanna keep ya cova from bein' blown, dat'd be a start. But, nah. Ah be talkin' simpla. Ya gotta leave some a de bad ones. Otha wise, dem Alliance gonna figure out ya on to dem 'n dey gonna start burnin' a spies."

"Well, t'ank ya fa ya input, but Ah tink Takna undastand wat he be doin'," Renza'shi hissed. "Ya need meh ta show ya out?"

"Ah didn't tink ya'd lissen, 'n as Ah recall, Takna's even more stubborn den ya be." Haa'aji swung his feet off the table and stretched his back as he turned and sauntered toward the door.

As he neared the door, Renza'shi kicked the floor. "Ya don' even know wat ya be talkin' about, ‘neway...."

"Ah been back fa a day, mon. Ya realleh tink it take me dat long ta figure out what be goin' on here?" With a grin on his face, Haa'aji looked back at them and motioned with his head toward the road. "Oh, Ah tink dey been wantin' ta talk ta ya at Whispa's Vials, yeh? Ah wouldn't keep dem waitin'. Was real impa’tant."

Renza'shi scoffed as Haa'aji's back disappeared through the doorway, though his jaw dropped when Murk walked past him toward the door. "De hell ya be goin'?"

"I'd like to at least see what they wanted to talk to us about. If it's related to what the guild's been doing, we can tell them we don't know or can't say, but if not...maybe they wanted to talk about something else."

Renza'shi scowled, but trotted after Murk. "Haa'aji be full a shit, yeh? Ah bet dey didn't even ask for us."

Merely laughing off his friend's foul disposition, Murk walked into the street, looking over at Renza'shi as the troll matched pace with him. "You know, I've been meaning to ask, but why do you and Haa'aji hate each other so—"

Before he could finish his statement, an explosion caught both of them off guard and sent them flying faces first into the dusty street. As they coughed up dirt, Murk looked back over his shoulder, eyes wide. Smoke and flames still licked the edges of the doorway, and numerous holes that pocked their guild hall's walls.

"Dat son of a bitch," Renza'shi whispered, eyes glued to the burning building behind them.

Murk couldn't look away, either. If they'd been a few seconds slower…he couldn't even finish the thought.

"You don't think Haa'aji could have really...."

"Ya know he did," Renza'shi spat as he pushed himself up. "'n ya know we ain't neva gonna be able ta prove it, eitha."

~"~

Grunts were hurrying down the street, away from the hold where Thrall and his most trusted advisors had been reviewing their plans for Northrend. Garrosh and a few others had hurried to the entrance when they'd heard the explosion and, even blocks away, they could see the smoke billowing up from where Blood and Honor's guild hall stood. In all the chaos, only one orc kept heading toward the hold.

Garrosh narrowed his eyes and stormed out to meet Gore, blocking his path as he scowled. "Do you even know what happens to this city? Right under your nose?"

Gore stared back at Garrosh evenly. "Why don't you tell me?"

At a loss for words, namely because of how much calmer the orc seemed in compared to the first time he'd accused him of failing the Horde, Garrosh pointed toward the smoking ruins.

With a glance over his shoulder, Gore shrugged. "I guess whoever's in charge of Orgrimmar's security should look into that."

"How dare you act so—"

"Understand something, mag'har," As Garrosh tried to grip Gore's shoulder, the old warrior jerked his arm away and pointed toward the entrance of the hold, where Thrall and Vol'jin stood, already receiving reports on the matter from a few grunts who had been sent for help in extinguishing the flames. "My warchief is standing over there. You mean nothing to me."

Garrosh felt like he'd been slapped in the face and stood in a stunned silence as Gore walked away from him and up to Thrall, pulling out a small envelope and handing it to the warchief. He saluted and then nodded to the nearest grunt, calling for someone to give him a bucket of water so that he could help. The once great commander of Orgrimmar's defenses disappeared so easily into the crowd, as though he had never held a title in his life.

As Thrall read over the letter he'd received, Garrosh managed to gather his senses and stalked over to him, incredulous. However, before he could ask how he could help—as much as it stung to have been spurned so, he often felt the outsider when walking through Orgrimmar's streets, and was desperate not to linger on such feelings—Thrall looked up at him, brow furrowed.

"You've been conducting searches in the Horde...for Alliance sympathizers and spies?"

Garrosh squared his shoulders and nodded once. Thrall took in a slow, measured breath. "I understand your desire to be a part of this place. And I understand that you would do most anything to protect the Horde. But please do not go behind my back in such a manner again. I know how to lead our people."


	24. Misfit

As a forsaken, there were certain noises to which one became accustomed. The creaking of brittle bones. The wearing and magical mending of rotting flesh, ever keeping the body just intact enough to continue on, so long as the body stayed active. The sound of wind catching in the throat on the rare occasions that one forgot one needn't breathe any longer. The soft rattling of the vocal cords as they learned to form words with magic rather than air. The quiet sobs caught by the tongue when waking from dreams of family and being loved.

A heartbeat was a noise heard in allies and enemies.

Timmons sat perfectly still on a large rock overlooking one of the ponds next to the entrance to Stromgarde. Smoke still drifted up from inside the city—his usual wake of destruction, really—as he stared down at his reflection, his hood knocked back to his shoulders.

A soft breeze washed lazily over him, carrying the scent of the ocean intermingled with the flowers and grasses of the gently rolling fields around him. The feel of the wind caressing his gaunt skin made him tingle, goose bumps rising along his arms.

This couldn't be real.

One minute he'd been threatening that idiot mage, the next he'd been waking up in an old, worn out building that was serving as an infirmary in Stromgarde, with humans and a few dwarves bustling all around him....

Well, sort of.  Really, after he'd threatened that mage, the next thing that had happened had been a rather angry sheep-Timmons making his way out of the city and ignoring as a few novice draenei tried to coerce him into coming over. They must have figured that with his sense of direction he couldn't be polymorphed. He offhandedly realized that he'd forgotten about them and wondered if they were still in the general area. They needed a lesson in respect.

However, another breeze recaptured his attention, and he shivered, though it was only in part from the wind. This was so strange. Timmons raised his hands, and his frown deepened. While his appendages were still boney as ever, they were...living flesh.

Everything was blurred and hard to remember, though he could piece together a haphazard story as to what had happened. When the humans had come hurrying over to the bed they'd tucked him into, whispering about what was wrong with his eyes, he had assumed they were taking advantage of his weakened state, though it was only after he killed them that he realized they must have thought they had been tending one of their own. They'd probably feared—just before he'd incinerated their lot—that he was sick with the plague, or worse, the victim of a new one.

Fools.

Timmons pulled back his sleeves for the nth time, inspecting the skin that covered his joints and running his hands over them.

That damnable heartbeat made it hard to hear anything. In fact, it was almost all he could hear. That and the swishing of blood through his veins. How did the living get by like this? He didn't remember having these problems before he'd succumbed to the plague.

He jerked his ratty robes up and eyed his scrawny legs. He was skin and bone, so to speak. Well, perhaps he just barely made it to the low end of what a healthy human man ought to look like. Probably not. Running his fingers over the back of his neck, he felt his spine concealed beneath skin and abruptly realized that he wasn't sitting with a hunch.

He looked back down at his reflection. His eyes were still glowing yellow. Would that be enough to get back into forsaken territory un-harassed? He really didn't care about killing his own kind, but he had a feeling that if he went around charring them as he usually would have that it would make it harder for them to believe that he, too, was forsaken. And then there was always the problem of if he had to kill them to save himself, he'd be all but condemning himself to the Alliance. He'd rather die from the plague again than do that.

Timmons ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times. Those humans must have given him a bath, because his hair was soft to the touch, not nearly as stringy and greasy as he would have expected. Not to mention he was surprised he didn't have a truly hellacious case of hat hair. After all, it had been years since he'd last taken off his hood.

As far as he could remember, after getting thrown through the portal, he'd made it about halfway through the city, an off feeling plaguing the back of his mind, as though something inside of him was amiss. At the time, he'd merely written it off as being a sheep—no one had ever dared to polymorph him before. However, as he trotted along on his way, he'd rather abruptly been overwhelmed with pain.

He remembered how he had died to the plague, but this felt so much worse. Everything had hurt at first, though the pain had been like a tidal wave. After its initial breaking over his body, it had receded to his joints, his back, and his chest. And then it had amplified, as if his rotten heart were trying to beat before it had been mended, trying to force the decay from his body with ragged, desperate thumps.

Timmons figured that he had to have passed out shortly after the pain began. He'd still been sheeped when it had hit him—it had actually been what had broken the polymorph.

When he'd woken up, he'd still had a few aches here and there, but they had all been foreign. Strained muscles instead of scuffed, exposed bones. A dull, throbbing headache instead of a few frayed nerve endings.

He tossed a small pebble into the pond and waited for the surface to calm again, as though it might reflect something different, as though this were all a ruse. However, when the water stilled, he was still...whatever it was that he'd become. Stretching one of his shoulders and wishing that the dull aches in his body would go away, he looked around to make sure no one else was nearby. The last thing he needed was to be brought back to life just to have a human come up and kill him simply because he'd been too stunned to stay alert.

Timmons had to wonder how long he'd been unconscious—days, maybe?—and it occurred to him to check his guild stone. In the very least, he could ask what day it was and just tell someone he'd gotten caught up in something and lost track of time. He patted down his robes and then frowned.

 Of course it wasn't on his person, that would have been too simple.

Summoning his voidwalker, he swung himself off of the boulder and literally cursed a few stones which scraped the bottoms of his feet. Damned nerve endings. He'd almost made it back to the gates when he looked over his shoulder to see his voidwalker still where it had been summoned, the glowing hollows that were its eyes watching him with a bit too much interest for his liking.

Timmons snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground beside him and the creature's bracers lit up, forcing it to bend to its master's will. However, instead of fighting against him, the voidwalker shot toward him, stopping right in front of him, his darkness curling slowly around Timmons' feet as though it were challenging his authority.

Turning away from the creature, Timmons stalked into the city, offering a few quick words to send pain running through his voidwalker when the creature didn't immediately follow him. While the demon continued to watch him with a most curious expression, it was obedient, going after a few humans who had managed to survive Timmons' first walk through.

It didn’t take him long to return to the burned out shell of an infirmary.

Sure enough, his stone was wrapped up with a few of his other belongings next to the bed he’d been given. It was fortunate that Haa'aji had thought to fireproof the guild stones, for it was pretty much the only thing that had survived the fire. The rest of Timmons' things, bags and reagents for his inscriptions, mostly, had been singed, if not burned away completely. Timmons ran his fingers over his guild stone, considering that it was the only real proof that he had that he belonged to the Horde.

He waited until he was out of the city again before he found a quiet nook to settle in, out of sight from the road, and read through his messages. A few of the earliest ones he'd missed were jokes or playful quips from Liila, and he had to skip over most of them, as even a simple 'heh' sent his breathing spiraling out of control.

It was such a pain to have to remember to breathe.

A message from Roberts warned him to behave, half a dozen from Haa'aji begged for a summons, one from Sham told him not to send any general messages out on the stones since it was suspected that the Alliance had a spy. The one after that said that the spy issue had been resolved, though no one had really said much after that.

And then, through all of it, were messages from Mitchell. He had to set his stone down for a moment and concentrate on steady, even breathing as merely thinking of the mage made him seethe. It was like blood somehow fueled anger. He'd been pissed off plenty a time during his second life, but this...it was invigorating.

If only he could keep his breathing even. At least he wasn't having trouble keeping his heart beating.

At least? It was a huge weakness. Something enemies could aim for to end him with a quick stab. He knew; he did it to people all the time. At a loss for what to do—should he try to re-plague himself?—Timmons finally gave in and looked back to his guild stone.

Almost all of Mitchell's messages were simple, _Are you okay?_ s or _Talk to me, please_.s. However, most of the later ones were written in common, instead of gutterspeak.

Common, really? Did Mitchell think his brain would just forget their language?

Timmons paused at the realization that Mitchell had to have been the one to have done this to him. He remembered that moron throwing something in his face just before he'd been sheeped. Had that potion done this to him?

His mind blanked, with only a single thought echoing through it. Had Mitchell found a cure for the plague?

He considered his reflection again and decided against it. His eyes still glowed. And any human as thin as he was probably wouldn't feel this...healthy. Timmons felt like he could run laps around Stromgarde, if he so chose.

No. This was no cure. He didn't know what it was.

Suddenly feeling uneasy, he spoke a few quick words in gutterspeak, switched to common, and then switched back, just to make sure he wasn't somehow forgetting his forsaken life. All the while, his voidwalker kept watch over him, as though waiting for him to break under the stress of whatever had happened. When he was sure he was still competent, he dismissed his demon much to its chagrin, decided to let the damn mage fret for a while longer, and grudgingly asked for the help of the only person he could think of who could truly keep a damn secret.

Haa'aji.

~"~

Timmons wanted to murder him a troll. Of all the people Haa'aji could have asked to help with Enlyhn's summons, he had to choose Cinder? It had been bad enough that Enlyhn had to have been involved, and Timmons loathed that it took three people to summon. The more people who knew about what had happened to him—whatever it was that _had_ happened—the more complicated his life would be. After all, for all he knew it would wear off in a few days. No reason for any forsaken to see him and think that their days of misery were nearly over.

What the hell was she even doing back in town? Wasn't she supposed to be off living in sin with a demon? As he noticed the way Cinder kept her distance from Enlyhn and kept giving him resentful glares, he got the feeling that something must have happened. After all, her lover had been Enlyhn's demon.

Great, everyone had problems. Timmons couldn't help but feel that his dilemma was worse. After all, friends could comfort a broken heart. They couldn't fix a beating one.

And since Cinder knew, she'd tell Liila. Liila was the last person he wanted to see him like this. He didn't know why it mattered so much to him, but it did.

A sudden terror gripped him that one of them was going to broadcast what was happening over their guild stones. Timmons couldn't allow that. He gave them all a stern look and tried to voice that what they were seeing stayed between the four of them, and that was it, but when he tried to talk, he found that his vocal cords needed air to operate again, and they were sorely out of practice with such methods. He wheezed and gasped for a few minutes, with none of his summoners coming to his aid, before he finally managed to regain control of his body and merely sunk to a seat on the ground—roof, actually; Haa'aji had made sure they'd summoned him where no one would see—and covered his face with his hands.

Cinder was the first to move. When Haa'aji had said that Timmons needed a secret summons, she'd figured that he was trying to avoid Gregor after sneaking into a warfront again or some other such nonsense. But this...was it even really Timmons? Had the rumors of an Alliance spy been true after all? Haa'aji had said they weren't and that he'd taken care of it, but....

Creeping forward, Cinder paused as the human man—albeit with forsaken-esque eyes—lifted his head to watch her, his brow knitting together with suspicion. She eyed him for a moment before quickly reaching out and flipping his hood up over his head.

Yep. Definitely Timmons.

Haa'aji abruptly sighed, recognizing his guild mate with half his face concealed and then sauntered over to him, squatting in front of him while Cinder preoccupied herself by grabbing Timmons boney wrists and inspecting his skeletal hands. Had he always been this thin?

Timmons thought that it was ironic that masking the only part of him that remained obviously forsaken would be the key to gaining his guild mates' trust. Cinder and Haa'aji started talking at once and Timmons' eye twitched as he suddenly found Haa'aji's ear against his chest. "De hell, mon? De plague woa off a sumtin?"

"Are you...like okay and everything?" Cinder was asking, her healer tendencies showing through. She tried a rejuvenation on him, as though it would make him grow muscles or just go back to being dead.

"It was Mitchell, I think," Timmons finally mustered his voice, reaching up and scratching the back of his head. The action caused his hood to fall back again, and he shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether he wanted it back up or not. He had always been more intact than other forsaken, and he'd seen what happened to one or two like him, when jealousy got the better of their fellow rotting husks. Now, however, he just looked like a starving, skeletal man.

Cinder abruptly released him and rummaged through Haa'aji's nearest bag, hanging on his belt. The rogue seemed oblivious to the theft. "Watcha mean, Mitchell did dis? How?"

"He threw something on me," Timmons said slowly—his words were already coming easier, and he resentfully resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably need to have a nice long conversation to get back into the swing of talking.

Cinder came up with a wrapped loaf of bread and offered it to him. Of course she'd notice that he looked like he must be dying of hunger, though he wasn't. He frowned and took the bread anyway. If it would make her stop looking so damn worried...if she freaked out enough, she might tell—

"Don't tell Liila." He caught Cinder's arm as he repeated himself, looking her square in the eyes.

"What do you plan to do? Live in this exact spot for the rest of your life?" Cinder arched an eyebrow. "Because unless you are, people are gonna find out."

"Not from you, they aren't," Timmons hissed.

Shuffling robes caught Timmons' attention, and he turned in time to see Enlyhn step up next to him, offering a flask of water. Enlyhn muttered something about a sore throat, and Timmons took the flask, if only to get him to stop holding it out. Even with only the three people around, Timmons still felt like a nether-damned spectacle.

"We have to tell Gore," Cinder shrugged.

Timmons squared his shoulders as he shot her a glare. "You're not telling anybody anything."

"If someone sees you," Cinder snapped back, crossing her legs as she sat again beside him, "they'll tell the grunts that there's a human in Orgrimmar, and there'll be a manhunt for you. If Gore knows what happened—"

" _I_ don't even know what happened," Timmons hissed, doing his damnedest to ignore that she had a valid point.

As he spoke, Haa'aji merely shrugged, "Gore ain' de leada a de defenses hea, aneh more. If we gotta tell somebodeh, it be T’rall."

"No!" Timmons cried out, cursing as his panic again left him concentrating on breathing rather than arguing.

Cinder patted one of his hands and sighed when he jerked it away. "If he knows that _something's_ happened to you, he can allay anyone's fears with some bullshit about having already caught you or...something."

Timmons held his hands to his head, his feathery brown hair sticking out in tufts between his fingers. Practical as it was, he still didn't want to involve any more people. The more who knew, the faster word would get out. The faster Liila would know. "Get that asshole mage here and have him fix me, and we won't need to tell Gore or Thrall or anyone anything."

"I think he already did," Enlyhn muttered, still watching Timmons, standoffishly. "Fix you, I mean."

Even as the orc spoke, Haa'aji was already swishing through messages on his guild stone and different options that he'd 'programmed' into his. He preferred to operate on a much more complicated level than most of his guild mates. Haa'aji frowned. "Ah tink Mitchell got his stone off."

In truth, though they often referred to stones as being 'off' or 'on', they really only referred to the volume level they'd set it to. If it was quiet enough, one could go days without being drawn into guild drama or mishaps. Plus, Mitchell had set it up so that people could see when someone’s sound was on silent, so that they wouldn’t continue to send messages that wouldn’t be received for however long.

"Are you sure we can't just get Margaret?" Cinder asked, her voice almost a whine. "She missed Mitchell when he headed out the other day, and she's in town. Do we really need that little brat?"

"He be de onleh apothecareh in de guild, yeh?" Haa'aji frowned, already sending a message to Mitchell. "If Mitchell did dis ta him, it probableh be a potion, nah a spell."

Timmons nodded grudgingly. Cinder slumped her shoulders, pouting. However, she barely allowed herself time to mull over having to see her arch nemesis and instead picked up one of Timmons' hands again, pushing his sleeve up so that she could better inspect all of his arm. She turned his limb this way and that, watching the tendons and thin muscles twist gently under the skin. She flicked his palm, and Timmons flipped his hand around to give her the bird.

"I'm just thinking," Cinder muttered, catching herself before she could whack him on the back of the head. This had to be hard on him. "Maybe we could get Whisper, Sham and—"

"What part of 'don't tell anyone' do you have such a hard time understanding?"

Cinder scowled. "I was just thinking that if we all tried to heal you at once, it might...improve your...condition."

"My condition is just fine," Timmons muttered. When he turned to glare at her, he heaved a sigh, though he instantly regretted it. Sighing threw off the rhythm of his breathing. Everything threw off the rhythm of his breathing. He had to wonder why he wasn't having as much trouble with his other bodily functions which were supposed to be subconscious, like his heart beat. In the end, he dismissed his curiosity, figuring it had something to do with him knowing that he shouldn't have to breathe. Cinder patted his hand as he regained control of his lungs, and the warlock gave up. He just wanted to be the way he was...being dead had been so simple. And Cinder was right. Everyone was going to know soon enough. "Do whatever you want...."

Enlyhn frowned. "You know what I want?" The others glanced at him suspiciously. He'd been oddly quiet since Timmons had arrived. "I want to do a forced summons for Mitchell."

~"~

Gregor was half asleep, watching his lure bob on the surf when he heard someone shuffle over the ridge of the hill and down the embankment toward him. The steps didn't sound quick enough to be Nat Pagle's—a fellow fishing enthusiast and quite possibly the only human who didn't recoil instantly when they saw him—so he waited until the noises stopped before he turned and inspected his visitor.

His eyes flashed angrily as he saw Mitchell standing beside him. The mage was holding one of his bags in front of him like a shield. Gregor looked back out to sea. "Get out of my sight."

"No." Mitchell replied sharply. He dropped down to sit even as his guild leader considered beating the damnable mage with his fishing pole. Mitchell drummed his fingers against his bag slowly. "I didn't mean to get them into trying to mask the plague like that. It was an excuse so they wouldn't know what I was doing. They ran with it."

Gregor felt his stilled blood boiling. He was doing something worse than masking something that could destroy the known world?

"I blew up the lab so that they can't work on that for a while," Mitchell offered, half heartedly.

His guild leader didn't even look at him.

"I need your help." Mitchell flipped open his bag and carefully pulled out a bundle of cloth. As he unwrapped it, Gregor slowly reeled in his line.

"I'm not going to aid you with your experiments."

"Just...it's for Margaret," Mitchell looked up at him pleadingly as he removed a small vial from the center of the cloth. Even as Gregor paused to eye him, mistrusting the mage's sincerity, Mitchell carefully set it down near his knee. "I think it's ready for forsaken testing...honestly, I don't know. I tried it on Timmons, but I haven't heard from him, so I don't know what to do. I didn't want to change it until I knew how well it worked—"

"You experimented on a guild member?" Gregor sounded ready to cast Mitchell to the sharks. The mage hoped he wouldn't; he was a terrible swimmer.

Mitchell removed a small box with holes in it from the bag. He held up a finger as he opened the box and removed a plagued frog. "Just...watch."

As he went to pour his concoction on the frog, Gregor grabbed the mage's wrist. "Hasn't the damn thing suffered enough? Now you have to play god with it?"

Mitchell paused, confused for a moment. He frowned as he realized his guild leader figured that he was just going to torture the little creature. "You're not going to believe me if I don't show you—"

Gregor shot to his feet and caught Mitchell by the collar, jerking him close. "I'm so tired of you apothecaries! It was bastards like you who started the damn plague! Monsters like you who took everything from me! And you don't even—"

His voice cut off as both he and Mitchell were encompassed in glowing purple runes. When they'd faded out, it took Gregor a moment to see Enlyhn, Cinder, and Haa'aji all staring at him with 'oh shit' expressions. Angry as he already was, he didn't want to know what bullshit they were involved in. He loosened his grip on Mitchell, and the mage darted out of his reach, freaking out as he nearly dropped one of his few remaining vials of his experiment. When he realized he was in Orgrimmar, he thanked the Dark Lady that his bag had caught on one of his toes when Gregor had assaulted him. Leaving his research notes near the surf in Theramore would have been a nightmare. Even as he leaned down to pick it up, so that no one would step on it, a firmer pair of hands grabbed him by the collar, swung him around, and slammed him into the rock face of the Drag, bordering the roof they were now on. His brittle bones protested the abuse, and Mitchell hissed as the liquid in his vial sloshed about and nearly spilled out onto him. He couldn't very well study the plague if he was alive, now could he?

"You son of a bitch! It wasn't enough to come after me, you had to go for our guild leader next? After you've fucked him over, then who? Roberts? Shadow? We're not your fucking lab rats!"

However, Mitchell almost instantly perked up, despite himself, when he saw who it was who was holding him. "Timmons! I tried to get in touch with you."

While both Haa'aji and Cinder pulled Timmons off the mage, Enlyhn watched their guild leader's face as it slowly dawned on him what had happened. Gregor's arms fell limply to his side. His earlier rage vanished as his mouth hung agape, stunned.

Haa'aji managed to get Timmons' arms behind his back, though the warlock continued to wriggle, trying to break free so that he could strangle the smug looking mage in front of him. However, when Haa'aji lightly put a bit more pressure on the man's weak arms, he stilled, not wanting any bones to break. Timmons had a disgusting hunch that it would hurt a hell of a lot more, as he was.

Cinder stood between Timmons and Mitchell as an extra line of defense, though she looked more than willing to step out of the way, should Mitchell not have a damned good excuse for whatever he'd done.

"Killin' him won' be makin' nuttin' betta, mon," Haa'aji tried to protest, though Timmons merely turned as best he could to sneer at the troll.

"It'd make me feel a hell of a lot better."

Cinder finally couldn't keep treating Timmons like a traumatized man and smacked him upside the head. It was Timmons. He'd get over it. "Stop it."

His headache seemed to double, and his pride stung, though he abruptly stilled and straightened up, looking down his nose at her. Without his forsaken hunch, he offhandedly noticed that he was easily a few inches taller than Cinder. "I may be breathing, but I can still curse you."

"Then curse me," she paused to glare at Mitchell, who had dared to snicker, letting her gaze flicker red in warning. As the mage's smile vanished, she looked back at Timmons. "But if you kill Mitchell, you're like this forever."

"You...." Gregor murmured, stepping up to stand in front of Timmons. "You're alive. And you don't want to be? Just look at you...you have a heart beat...you're—"

"Your wet dream?" Timmons hissed. Even as his guild leader jerked back, indignant, Timmons scowled. "What am I? Forsaken? No. Human? No. I lost my life and now my unlife, and what am I left with? Nothing! You think the forsaken will let me even set foot in Undercity?" For the first time, his voice cracked. "I'm nothing now...."

It was the kind of weakness he hadn't shown since before his unlife began and, like sighing, he instantly regretted it. His eye twitched as Haa'aji abruptly leaned down and wrapped his arms around him. "It be okay, mon. Me 'n Liila let ya in our club, yeh? Ya can be a misfit."

"I don't want to be a misfit," Timmons muttered, resigning himself to the fact that he would be hugged until the troll felt like releasing him. Though he considered trying to curse Haa'aji, now that he'd finally calmed down and gathered his wits about him, he decided against it. The troll was too aware of his situations...he'd probably silence Timmons before he could get the curse off.

Gregor was shaking his head. "How did this happen?"

Grinning from ear to ear, Mitchell lightly shook his vial, albeit not enough for the contents to spill. He motioned toward it as a salesman might to a new miracle drug.  The action was oddly fitting. "I found a cure for the plague."

"This is not a cure," Timmons hissed. "Look at my eyes. Do you think I can walk into Stormwind? By the nether, I have to _sneak_ into Orgrimmar."

Gregor eyed the warlock, inspecting him more carefully. While Timmons seemed loathe to be anyone's display model, Gregor ignored his disposition. "It's a bigger break through than anyone else has ever made."

"Yeah, Whisper and I never came anywhere close to this...." Cinder murmured.

All of them paused to eye her. At length, Timmons was the one to ask. "You were working on a cure for the plague?"

She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "We had a few ideas...nothing ever panned out though, so it wasn't worth mentioning...Whisper wants Shadow back, you know? We were just quiet about it because we figured he'd yell at us."

Mitchell slung an arm over her shoulder, a firm grin in place. "So...I'm guessing wherever you did your research was...outside of Orgrimmar? Seeing as you would have needed plagued creatures to experiment on?"

Cinder frowned at him, lightly plucking his arm and removing it from her person. "I was doing some research down in Gadgetzan. You'd have to talk to Whisper about anything nearby."

"Can I have your lab?"

"Can you say 'fuck no'?" Cinder slipped into cursing in zandali as Mitchell pestered her, insisting that he could use her lab more efficiently than she could.

Timmons wanted to strangle the damn mage. "Why not just hole back up in the ruins of Lordaeron?"

"The Society found out what I was doing, and they trashed most of my work," Mitchell murmured, smile vanishing. He shrugged as he hopped back over to his bag, which was still on the roof. "I didn't see them do it, but I know it was them. First Roberts was looking into my stuff and then Lisp and then.... They toppled my cauldron, made sure every last drop seeped into the ground, and burned my extra reagents. Luckily, I keep my written notes on me and a few copies hidden in different places. And I'd hidden a few vials."

Gregor frowned. "Why would they do that?" When Mitchell gave him a blank look, Gregor shook his head. "Everyone would benefit from being freed from the plague, so why would they destroy your work?"

"Wow, you really have no clue how bitter people are, do you?" Mitchell asked, one of his eyebrows arching. He shrugged. "They're more into destroying than restoring."

"And what made you decide to be different?" Gregor ran his hands through his hair, his rotting flesh suddenly feeling like more of a prison than it had in years. He looked back at Timmons. Of course it would have been one of the worst bastards in the forsaken to be redeemed first.

"Margaret's been really upset lately," Mitchell whispered, shoulders abruptly sagging. "Ta'lim made it worse by teasing her about Wren. I'm..." he trailed off for a moment before shrugging dejectedly. "I'm worried she's going to give up."

"So show her Timmons, den," Haa'aji patted the warlock on the head. "Tell her it be in de works, yeh?"

Mitchell eyed Timmons again, a fleeting, giddy smile flashing across his face. "You think it'd help?"

"Hope is an amazing thing," Gregor whispered.

Timmons twitched. He couldn't stand it. He'd been the first test subject, so of course Mitchell was thrilled that he had a heartbeat, but he was a point to move forward from. He was one of those things that would, so to speak, be set aside on a shelf and forgotten as better things came along. Even if Mitchell did find an absolute cure for the plague, it would be for a full forsaken. Where did he stand?

Was he ever going to get to be a real man again?

Haa'aji had fallen to joking with Gregor about how of course it had to be someone who didn't care about life who would figure out how to restore it. As Gregor said something else about hope, and the troll jokingly hugged him, Timmons took his window of opportunity. He darted forward and wretched the vial of liquid that Mitchell had been holding out of his grasp. He knew a way to get Mitchell to fix him. If Mitchell were in the same boat....

As he went to toss the vial at the mage, Gregor misinterpreted his actions, thinking him merely trying to throw out the cure. In a breath, he had darted from Haa'aji's grip and grabbed for Timmons's wrist.

The concoction sloshed up one of Gregor's arms and onto his neck.

Timmons stared at him, wide eyed, as his guild leader watched the liquid seep into his flesh.

"Shit," Mitchell hissed, despite himself.

Timmons ignored him. As much as he wanted to curse the damned warrior, he instead grabbed Gregor's other arm and forced him to sit down. "You have maybe five minutes before you're gonna feel like you're dying...again."

~"~

Timmons and Gregor stood awkwardly in the middle of the warchief's chambers while Mitchell enthusiastically explained what had happened, using grandiose hand gestures to go with his story. Thrall, Vol'jin, Garrosh, Saurfang, and Gore—who was only present because of his status in their guild and Thrall's continued respect for him—along with a few trusted grunts were the only ones present beside the trio. And every one of them counted as a person too many to be in on what had happened in Timmons' mind. He hated being on display as he was. All of the orcs were watching Timmons and Gregor with varying looks of awe, surprise, and suspicion.

With someone there to heal him after his heart had begun to beat, Gregor had fared much better in his transformation than Timmons had. Cinder's heals had accelerated the restoration of his flesh and bones, once they'd begun to repair themselves.

...And while Gregor still would have probably slept for a damn week, as Timmons had, Haa'aji had kept poking him until he woke up, in pain, exhausted, and amazed that he could feel his heart beating.

Gore had to say that, if nothing else, he was pleased to see that brash, Outlandish orc bastard Garrosh was actually speechless. However, even as Thrall tried to quiet down the excited mage long enough to ask him to fill in some of the gaps for the rest of them, who weren't forsaken apothecaries, a sharp knock on the door caught one of the grunts' attention, and he nodded to the warchief quickly before opening the way, allowing Lady Sylvanas to walk in.

Thrall nodded to her, though she barely noticed it as she took in the scene in front of her, first the enthusiastic Mitchell and then the other two. The others present could have been furniture for all she cared. Her red gaze scrutinized them for a long moment before she finally turned a cold look back to Mitchell. "Explain yourself, apothecary."

"I found a cure for the plague!"

Lady Sylvanas took a few slow steps further into the room before turning her attention toward Gregor and Timmons as one might a caged animal. She walked around them once, her heels clacking sharply on the floor, before stopping in front of Mitchell, who was having trouble keeping his smile in place with his queen looking so...disgusted. "These men were forsaken?"

Timmons frowned and flipped his hood back up as Mitchell named them, pausing to offer that his lady had probably never met Gregor. The Banshee Queen vaguely recognized Timmons from the various tasks he had performed, once his face was masked...as did half the orcs in the room.

When she didn't respond, Mitchell trotted over to Gregor, seeing as he was the more hospitable of the test subjects, and held out his arm toward Sylvanas. "See? He has a pulse and...." His voice trailed off as her reaction did not mirror his enthusiasm.

She kept a calm gaze on Timmons and Gregor. "Your work is admirable, apothecary. Though, I do have a question or two, if I may...." She began a slow pace around the three again.

"Of course, my Lady."

Sylvanas paused in front of Timmons, reached out, and caught his chin, tilting his head this way and that. "Is this permanent?"

Mitchell had opened his mouth to respond to any sort of question she might ask, though he paused when her question proved none of the ones he'd been mulling over in his head. He frowned. "I should think so. I—"

"You only _think_ so? You are not certain?"

Mitchell floundered. "...I don't know."

"So...at any point these men could deteriorate back to forsaken...or fall into even further disrepair." It was more a statement than a question. Even Timmons found himself wanting to defend the helpless mage. He immediately hated himself for such altruistic thoughts.

"I don't think so," Mitchell tried to defend his experiment. "I mean, you need certain agents for deteriorations and—"

"I am well acquainted with what you need to make your little plague batches for your experiments." She paused to smile at Thrall. "We have to make sure we have samples of the plague if we are to learn to control it...and we need samples from all stages." Even as the warchief frowned, she turned back to look at Mitchell. "What I'm asking is whether this effect might wear off as the potion leaves their systems."

Mitchell didn't like her tone. "I don't see why it would. Timmons has been like this for almost a week, and the process of resuming life was eerily similar to that of dying."

Sylvanas inspected them again, more closely. She could hear their blood rushing through them, and one of her ears twitched. "Is their will as strong as a regular forsaken's?"

"I would think so..." Mitchell shrugged uneasily. He'd been so giddy when he'd seen it had worked not once, but twice on restarting heartbeats that he hadn't really considered that it would mean he'd have to have a formal findings report. After all, he hadn't wanted to tell anyone until he'd gotten more results, except that Gregor's screams as his body had mended itself had caught the attention of a patrolling grunt. After that it'd been a quick march to interrupt the warchief's plans for Northrend. "I mean, they're the same people they were...just alive."

"Are you sure?"

Gregor coughed into his hand. "I am the same man I have always been."

Sylvanas glanced at him, and he felt a chill run down his spine when her red gaze seemed to pick apart all that he was. After a moment, she lost interest in him and turned back at Mitchell. "Can they stay underwater as long as a regular forsaken?"

"I don't know."

"Can they march as long?"

"I...don't know."

"Can they fight as hard?" He didn't respond. "Can they suffer through as much?" When he didn't answer, she walked over and stood in front of him. "Well?" When he still didn't say anything, she gave him a condescending look. "Can they succumb to the same plague that killed them the first time?"

"Sylvanas," Thrall said, coming to stand beside her. However, before he could try to protest, she crossed her arms and glared at him.

"He said he found a cure for the plague. If rumor of...this," she motioned to Timmons and Gregor as though they were pests, "spreads to my city, there will be chaos. People will be demanding to be cured. This may appear better than our current situation, but who can say so soon? Perhaps it will have side effects that will not arise until later. And consider that we live in a plagued area. What is the point in saving people who will take in a single breath and be condemned back to rotting flesh?"

Mitchell set his jaw slowly, eyeing the woman in front of him. "So some tests still need to be done. It's a break through. Besides," he fought back a shiver as Sylvanas' cold gaze swept back over him, "it's not like this is the end result. I'll keep at it until I figure out a proper cure. And your point is valid. There is no reason to offer this to anyone until the Lich King has been dealt with."

While Sylvanas seemed somewhat pleased to see that Mitchell wasn't completely starry-eyed with thoughts of restoring the world to a happy place full of sunshine and rainbows and had thought of some of the practicalities, she wasn't about to let him off so easily. "Are these your only test subjects?"

"At the moment," Mitchell said, having somehow managed to scrape back together his earlier confidence.

"Do keep it that way, for now. Understood? I don't want any more of my people subjected to something so experimental."

"But so many are giving up," Mitchell protested. Even as Thrall gave him a curious expression, Sylvanas had to fight to keep her temper in check. Thus far, their allies had yet to learn of the hopelessness that was slowly diminishing their forces. Of how more and more forsaken saw less point in living for vengeance alone and were allowing themselves to rot away into nothing. "If we at least give them hope, they'll fight harder and longer, won't they?"

The Banshee Queen drummed her fingers against her hip slowly, considering the mage's words. However, it was Thrall who spoke. While he didn't entirely know what Mitchell was talking about, he understood the gist of it. "If you tell people that there is something being created, something that has yet to be perfected, but will be given out when it is, you can use the cure as a way to help your people endure."

Sylvanas' nails drummed down at once, and she gave Mitchell a chilling smile. "Send your work to the apothecaries, and we'll see if they can't perfect your ideas." When he opened his mouth, her coldness returned. "We'll give you credit if it works out."

"But I'm an apothecary for the Society," Mitchell murmured. "I can just take it to them myself—"

Lady Sylvanas allowed her gaze to wander away, as though to say he was no longer worth her time. "I don't want you in my city until I decide how to deal with you."

"What?"

"You proceeded with unauthorized experiments and may have compromised two of my people. Until I am certain that they will not suffer for it, you are not welcome in our territories. And I would suggest they keep their distance as well. The forsaken may recognize their own, but the abominations are not as smart."

Even as Mitchell accepted his lady's decree, though he didn't bother to hide at least some of his resentment that she would think so little of his work, Thrall dismissed them so that he could speak in private with the Banshee Queen about what her apothecary had meant.

~"~

While Mitchell and his test subjects entertained the leaders of the Horde, Haa'aji, Cinder, and Enlyhn stood around in front of the warchief's hold. As Cinder paced and Enlyhn started and extinguished small fires, Haa'aji remained perfectly still.

Cinder finally picked up a small rock and threw it at him. "Stop being so roguish, dammit!"

Her aim was awful, and the rock flew past Haa'aji's head, nowhere close to hitting him. He blinked, slowly turning his gaze to focus on her. Of course she was worried about Gregor, and Timmons, too. However, Haa'aji was more concerned with what was going to come.

Word of what had happened was going to get out. If the information wasn't handled properly, yes, there would be riots in the Undercity and forsaken territories. Worse, it could create a rift between those who found the benefits of being dead and those who desperately wanted to live again. People would kill each other for a chance at a cure or to quell such meaningless dreams.

If the forsaken fell, then the Alliance would retake their territories. The sin'dorei would be isolated. It would be like losing two allies, instead of one. And if the tables tipped that much, the Alliance would crush the Horde. While Haa'aji supposed that he and Liila would be able to escape any impending doom—they could easily join a goblin cartel or something of the like—he'd grown rather fond of Orgrimmar and didn't want to leave.

And there was _her_....

Haa'aji dismissed his personal feelings. Surely Thrall and the others would consider such problems. He'd ask Gore about it when they were finished. 

…

It seemed like they were going to take all night, and he really didn't want to wait that long.

He paused. What if he explained that it was a curse, not a cure? Gregor and Timmons could have been investigating something quilboar related, and as they vanquished the local leader of those annoying little creatures, it had hexed them. Something real complicated like.

Haa'aji frowned. Why would it be so complicated if it had to cast it in the creature's dying moments? Maybe...he was trying to resurrect his lover, and the spell was misdirected to Timmons and Gregor. Because there were two targets instead of one, it only half brought them back. The two had been knocked unconscious and had no clue how this had occurred. Gregor had sought answers, but Timmons had gotten frustrated and set everything on fire. That was a Timmons thing to do.

Haa'aji nodded to himself. Pulling out his non-guild stone, he sent Roberts and a few others outside the guild who he'd been kind enough to give independent stones the story he'd concocted. By morning, no one would believe that Mitchell was close to a cure for the plague. While it might steal the mage's thunder, at least it would avert the fall of the Horde, and by the loa, it might even give him time to work on his cure. Maybe he'd get it right this time.

Haa'aji paused as he felt a chin rest on one of his shoulders and turned his head to see who in the nether could be tall enough to lean on him. Cinder had used the lower rungs of a nearby brazier to boost herself up high enough, and she was watching his stone. "Quilboars, eh?"

Enlyhn glanced over at them, fire dancing around one of his fists. "Do I even want to know?"

"Haa'aji is concocting the perfect cover up," Cinder grinned and gave the troll a thumbs up. However, her smile slipped as a flash from the stone caught her attention, and she pointed at it. "I think you have a message."

"Dem bastards ain't even readin' de damn details—" Haa'aji cut himself off as he realized that the message was from Liila. The runes barely had time to flicker above the stone before he clamped his fist around it and darted forward, leaving Cinder to plummet to the ground. "Enlyhn, we be needin' a summons stone. Now."


	25. Silvermoon

It was going to be a good day.

Liila kept telling herself that as she plodded along, walking up the steps and around the corner. However, she stopped when she saw the translocation orb. Its delicately worked metal, shaped in the form of three women casting towards the central, brilliantly colored orb, was so...

She wasn't sure she'd call it welcoming, but the way the magic seeped out of it, filling the air with whispers of elven spells and powers far older than she, made it feel something like Felwood. Not nearly as powerful as the ancient magics of that desolate wood, but still; impressive for a place any being might call home.

Taking a few tentative steps toward the orb, she wondered if she ought to recognize any of them. The spells. While she could tell _what_ a few were—nothing particularly dazzling: an inventory spell here, the remnants of a spell that would water potted plants there—it wasn't the same as remembering. As always, her life was a simple, hazy void before her time spent in Bloodsworn's care.

In truth, a small part of her had grown used to that emptiness and dreaded that she might be nearing an end of this second chance of sorts at life.

Liila had always—as far as she could remember, anyway—had trouble telling her dreams apart from reality. When she'd first escaped Bloodsworn, as she traveled through the Plaguelands with Haa'aji, she would dream that she woke up back in her personal little hell. She could smell the blood in the air, taste it in her mouth. She could hear that bastard's footfalls on the steps outside her prison, coming back for her.

And then she'd wake up next to her trollish savior, the air damp with decay, the ground rotten beneath their feet.

In one world, there was no longer a reason to hope, to dream. In the other, there was a friend. It had taken her forever to figure out which reality was hers. And even now, sometimes she would wonder if perhaps she was just lost to her dreams, allowing her mind to stay in a pleasant, kinder world while she was still being cut open and tainted with death magics so deeply that the light would never return to her.

That was why she had so much trouble waking up. When someone touched her, if she was in her dreams, it was always the same. It wasn't Mitchell or Ta'lim or whoever nudging her shoulder, it was Bloodsworn grabbing her, intent to drag her back to a place where she only continued to breathe because there was no point in trying to die. That was why she lashed out. She didn't want to go back there.

And then, in the moments where the blurry faces from her dreams faded, she would see that her fingers were clenched around a friend's neck, their eyes wide with horror as they stared helplessly up at the abomination on top of them.

That was why she rarely slept around other people. She didn't want to hurt anyone, yes, but really, her reasons were much more selfish. She didn't want them to know how broken she was.

There had only ever been one exception to this rule.

Timmons.

Liila had never been sure why, whether it was because she'd taken refuge in the darkness during her hellish captivity and saw that same abyss in that wretched warlock, or if it was some other, deeper meaning that she'd yet to grasp. Or perhaps he'd simply cast a spell on her so that during the beginnings of their journeys, she wouldn't wake up screaming if he touched her.

It was hard to say.

Haa'aji had always hated Timmons for that—among other things. He'd had to learn to dodge away from frantically clawing hands or restrain Liila until she came to her senses, but if Timmons stirred her awake, she barely so much as gasped.

It was an odd comfort to her that there was even a single person in the world who she could act 'normal' around. And it was a sinking terror that that might be coming to an end.

What if she changed once she regained her memories? What if she became whoever she'd been before Bloodsworn had gotten ahold of her? Would she want to stay in the elven city forever? Would she reject Haa'aji and the others because they reminded her of a darker time?

Really, though she was still afraid of falling back into Bloodsworn's clutches, she didn't consider her life that terrible any longer. After all, she had Impervious. She had people who would die for her and who she would gladly return the favor to. She had a world, a life.

But then, she'd had a life before all this. A different life. Would they be able to mesh together? Or would she have to choose which past would be her future?

Ever since Sethyl and Wren had joined the guild, she'd been afraid that they'd chip away whatever it was that was blocking her memories from her. That seeing them would conjure phantom images of a third world, neither her dreams nor reality, but a world of memories that could just barely stir the surface of her empty past.

Sometimes, as Wren would walk by, his bow lightly thudding against his back, she would think that perhaps she should see someone else. That so simple in action would remind her of someone she'd known once upon a time. But it never did. Her hopes and dreads were always left unfulfilled.

In some ways, she wanted to know who she'd been. She wanted to know how she'd come to fall to the Scourge. Had anyone tried to save her? Or had she never had anyone close enough to dare the horrors of the undead?

When Sethyl had first given her ring back, she'd been terrified that she was going to be swept away into her memories, that the wall would finally break, and she'd be lost to the shadows of times gone, hearing someone whispering sweet nothings as he gave her a trinket of his affections or perhaps a woman gushing about how pretty it was.

There had been nothing.

Liila was fairly certain the ring wasn't hers. There was no way Bloodsworn would have left such a clear path home for her. More like than not, he had wished to inflict pain and had grabbed the nearest thing: a mangled piece of jewelry.

However, even if the ring itself was a dead end, perhaps it would finally allay her worries about having to choose between who she had been and who she was.

After all, what if she remembered her family, her friends, just to learn that they'd all been killed? To remember only to mourn…it seemed like it would be the most likely to happen. After all, fate had a strange way of kicking people when they were already trampled into the mulch.

She was standing in front of the orb before she realized it, and she gave herself pause, checking the time and double checking her messages. An hour earlier than their original meeting. She was precisely on time.

Though she was slightly perturbed that they would move the time up on her—what if the zeppelin had run into bad weather and had to deviate from its course?—she supposed the less time she stood around waiting, the better. She was ready to flee from her past as it was and didn't need the anxiety building up.

She took in a deep breath and placed her hand on the orb. While she wasn't sure if she was supposed to say something or just will herself away, the magic simply wrapped around her, encompassing her as though soft feathers brushing against her skin. In a blink, she was in a darkened room, pale red curtains stirring lazily in front of her.

At first, she was confused. Should someone have been there, waiting? Where were Wren and Sethyl? Were they not allowed in the room in case a large group of people appeared? Was she was supposed to follow the hall to where they were waiting?

Even as she took a slow step forward, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve that covered her scars, she heard the soft clink of metal behind her and turned, expecting at the very least to see Sethyl, perhaps on his way to retrieve her. Instead, it was a stranger. A sin’dorei with curly hair and a hateful light in her eyes. Liila's mind blanked. She could practically hear Bloodsworn's voice, as though he were just behind her whispering in her ear.

_Did you think they really wanted to help you?_

The woman's sword flashed, the dim light of the translocation orb giving the blade a red hue as it swung toward Liila. She hadn't brought any weapons. Wren and Sethyl were going to protect her, and Wren had suggested leaving behind any daggers or staves she might own, on the off chance that someone would assume she was hostile.

So much for that.

It wasn't until Liila felt the blade biting into her neck that she snapped out of her stupor and shifted her body into shadows. The weapon passed through the rest of her, and she stumbled away, phasing back so that she could heal herself. The woman had incredible precision. Even as Liila slipped back into shadows—though she'd lost a generous amount of blood in the time it'd taken her to heal herself—the woman was already charging forward. And using holy spells.

A paladin.

Liila's gaze happened toward the orb of translocation briefly, but the paladin stood in her way. She doubted she'd be able to make it past her without the damned elf stunning her.

She dodged out of reach, allowing herself to merge with the shadows and shift through them, giving herself plenty of distance. As the paladin turned toward her, her frustration beginning to play on her features, Liila held her hands up and let her shadows recede. As her body became corporeal again, she felt how sticky her shirt was, no doubt ruined with a crimson coat.

"My visit has been sanctioned." Her attacker stopped, though she was still in a position to block Liila from either the door or the orb. She adjusted the grip on her sword as Liila motioned toward her. "Kill me if you feel you must, but know that it is ill advised."

The paladin's brow shot together. Then she scoffed. "You're cornered, and you think threats will help you escape?" She straightened up slightly out of her fighting stance. "How many of you are there? Is it a full raid on the city or are you just gathering intelligence?"

Liila stared at her blankly. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

"I'm here to speak with a Magister Lightsarrow, nothing more." Liila frowned as the elf looked ready to charge her again. She had to think of something. While she could easily shift into the shadows and flee through a wall—something Tizzle had never been able to grasp during his brief foray into shadow spec and always scowled at Liila when he saw her do it—but then, she didn't know the layout of the city, and she didn't really feel like dying today.

After all, if even one of those elves saw her die, she had a feeling that they'd hound her for her immortality in such a way that would make her almost miss the confines of Bloodsworn's torture chambers.

However, the elven lass in front of her was not going to listen to reason. In a breath, she'd lunged toward Liila again, blade arcing toward her neck, as though a second time would yield better results.

Though Liila felt a dull tug of fatigue, she ignored it and slipped back into her shadow form. She had the feeling that even if she killed the woman in front of her in defense, it would be like kicking a wasp's nest. A nest that was already angry about her existence to begin with.

~"~

"Tatai, where do you think you're going?" The Horde emissary, Cheneta, stalked after the troll she'd been charged with keeping an eye on as he strode into the Sunspire and ignored the few suspicious looks from the occasional guard.

"Ah be goin' home, wooman. Ya ain't stoppin' meh."

"Do you remember why you were drafted into this job to begin with—"

"It be hard ta fah'get when ya be remindin' meh evereh twenteh damned minutes," Tatai didn't slow his pace. Rather, he started taking longer strides, hoping desperately that he could somehow outrun his tormentor.

Cheneta considered dropping a totem to catch him in place, but decided against it. The elves didn't need to see how dysfunctional the emissaries could be. When she couldn't see any guards ahead of them for a stretch, she hoped that all the elves were out of hearing distance. "Come now. Calm down. Ambassador Kelemar said that we'd be speaking with Lor'themar soon—"

"He been sayin' dat fa…how maneh months now? Ah lost track." Tatai finally stopped and turned to look down at Cheneta, straightening up as best he could so that he could stare down his nose at her as though she were a child. "Dese elves ain't wantin' ah help, yeh? Dis be a last ditch effort ta save demselves 'n dey don' be givin' a damn about returnin' de fava."

"Tatai." Cheneta took in a deep breath, her face growing serious. "Honestly, it doesn't matter what we think. Thrall considers these talks a mere formality, and that's why the elves don't take us seriously. They'd have to screw up pretty badly for us to report back that they should be removed from the Horde—"

"Like refusin' ta extend a simple damn curteseh like a formal meetin'?"

"Like proving to be with the Alliance still," Cheneta snapped back. "And honestly. If we found out about something like that, they'd likely kill the whole lot of us to keep their secret safe. Our roles here are little more than formality, as I said. So you will stay here, and you will stop acting like—"

A loud crash echoed down the hall, and both of them stilled for a moment. It had come from the room the translocation orb was in. Their minds instantly went to the Alliance. Hadn't the elves claimed that they would make sure humans and the like couldn't use the orb?

Not wanting to call the guards unnecessarily or show that they doubted their hosts were being honest with them about even the most minor of security details, both emissaries headed toward the noise.

Tatai sprinted, thinking that perhaps he could use the chaos as a distraction and escape from Cheneta whilst she vanquished whatever foe was coming their way or reasoned with some brash, 'uncultured' orc—the elves thought they couldn’t hear their quiet snickers or snide remarks, and they were so wrong.

However, even as he neared the doorway, he saw something in the shadows cringe away from a blade, and then it was as though the darkness itself was coming for him. He skidded to a stop and braced himself for impact, though after a moment, he opened his eyes and saw that an elven paladin was staring at him wide eyed while delicate fingers gripped his arm from behind as though to use him as a shield.

"Miss Dragonlily?" Cheneta's voice cried out from behind him. Both Tatai and the paladin froze.

However, he recovered quickly. In a blink, he'd freed himself from her grasp and whirled around to face what he'd expected to be seething shadows. Instead, Liila was already leaning against the wall, wincing as Cheneta cast a healing spell on a few cuts and bruises that littered her arms. The little priest could be fast, but not enough so to dodge every jab of a skilled fighter.

Cheneta was inspecting Liila's neck and looking for any other, less noticeable injuries when the little high elf looked over at Tatai and offered him a nod and a faint smile. "It's been a while, Tatai."

"Oh, fuk no," he hissed, taking a few steps back and gripping the paladin's arm. He pointed accusingly at the high elf. "Finish de damned ting off. Now."

As the blood elf looked up toward him, clearly confused with whatever was happening, Cheneta's fingertips danced with lightning. "Neither of you are laying a hand on Liila."

Liila sighed, starting to run her fingers through her hair, but stopping when she realized that her blood had run down her arm and left her hand sticky. She let her hand fall back to her side. Her sleeves sported tears and bloodstains, and her hair was a wild mess. She looked back toward Cheneta, not bothering to hide how worn out she was as she motioned toward the angry troll a few feet away. "What did I do to him?"

Even as Cheneta opened her mouth, Tatai released the paladin and motioned to the hall around them with his hands. "Dis! Dis be ya fault! Ya 'n Haa'aji!" As Liila's head tilted, he scowled. "Ya fuckin' framed meh fa stealin' dat shit! Now Ah be stuck here, foreva! Waitin' ta speak wit' de damned elf leada dat neva gonna speak wit' us."

Tyan hadn't known what to do, but as the emissary mentioned a Haa'aji, it was as though the mere name gave the little elf in front of her strength. Suddenly, instead of looking frazzled and slightly terrified that something terrible was coming her way, she was calm, even slightly amused. It was as though she hadn't just been fighting for her life.

"I forgot what a foul mouth you have," Liila murmured. Tatai let out a strangled scream and kicked the wall beside him. "And I had nothing to do with that."

"Ya been de one who distracted meh! Ya been de one who gave Haa'aji time ta plant dat evidence!"

"I," Liila emphasized the word as she finally straightened up and pushed herself away from the wall. Her hand left a partial bloody print on it, and as they continued talking, Tyan realized that the little elf had to be some sort of ally. A spy for the Horde, maybe? But then…she'd nearly killed her… Tyan stiffened at the realization that she'd attacked someone on the same side as Liila continued to speak. "I had nothing to do with that. I honestly wanted to recruit you for the guild. That was why I brought you to Howl."

"De whole lot a ya be sneakeh basta'ds," Tatai hissed.

Liila rolled her eyes and then paused. "You have to admit though, there was a certain finesse that went into framing you." When Cheneta's brow furrowed, and Tatai looked ready to pull his hair out, she shrugged. "Not that I had anything to do with it."

"Ya be so full a—"

"Stop it!"

The three of them paused and turned their attention toward Tyan, who was still standing in the doorway to the orb's room, looking utterly confused. Cheneta arched her brow and looked back at Liila. "Not a scratch on her. You were playing nice for once."

"I always play nice."

"Don' ya even be—"

"I said stop it!" Tyan screamed. It was all too much. She'd never been the best of her class, but she was no slouch. She was good with a weapon. And now this orc and troll were talking about her like she'd been handled with care? She'd been trying to kill that elf, and her adversary had just been…been what? Toying with her? And the names they'd called her… she pointed accusingly at Liila. "You're trying to tell me that that… _quel'dorei_ is _the_ Dragonlily?"

"Yes," Cheneta replied, surprised. She turned back to Liila. "Shouldn't the elves know you?"

Liila shook her head. "Dragonlily wasn't my name before the Scourge attack." She gave Tyan a tired glance. "And honestly, none of them have really tried to see me as anything more than an annoyance permitted in their ally's capital."

Tyan wasn't going to give them time to work through the shortcomings of her people's information network. "The Dragonlily is a tauren! She's a druid!" She took in a few frustrated breaths. Sure, maybe this elf could be an ally, but there was no way... "The Dragonlily isn't an _elf_. She has some strong connection to nature, and we don't."

As Cheneta cradled her head in her hands like there was some explanation coming that she didn't want to have to go through and Tatai sighed, Liila shrugged. "Well…I am an _honorary_ tauren on Tuesdays."

Tatai felt his anger slipping for the first time since he'd seen the little elf and relived his arrest in Orgrimmar months prior. "Wat about Wednesdays?"

"Furbolg."

"Sata'day?"

"Troll." Liila wiped her hands on her skirt—it was as ruined as her shirt was at this point—and then began to carefully comb her hair out of her face with her fingers. "I'm a different species every day of the week."

"You can't be a member of another species," Tyan hissed.

"Honorary," Liila corrected and then motioned toward her, almost as though they were old friends. "If you're trying to reclaim me for the elves, there are better ways to go about it."

Tyan tilted her head to the side slowly, staring at the little elf. "You…what's wrong with you?" However, before Liila could decide whether she wanted to give her a rundown of all the times she'd hit her head or been maimed by something, Tyan remembered what else Cheneta had called her, and she paled a shade. "You're Liila?"

The quel'dorei offered her an odd bow that looked more like a mix between something a forsaken and a troll would do. "Liila Dragonlily, yes." As she straightened up, she allowed herself a fleeting, mischievous smile before donning a serious look. "Though I can see that some of the stories of my adventures have been embellished to the point where my true species—and class—has been lost."

"Ya prolly been de one ta spread dem," Tatai muttered.

"I never spread rumors about my own adventures," Liila replied without missing a beat.

"Haa'aji did it, den."

"I have no control over what he does or doesn't do."

Tyan stared at her, her expression blanking. She wanted to reject this reality. To just go back to where the elf in front of her was an enemy that needed slaying. But then…some of Sethyl's stories were starting to make sense. The way he'd stumbled around certain details, even while drunk…the way he'd explained that Liila could be infuriating at times, but that really she was a good person.

So far, Tyan wasn't sure she'd seen much of that latter part, though she was plenty angry.

When she started filling in a few of the blanks, it all fit together too well. The reason she had so many connections everywhere in all of Sethyl's stories and yet had so much trouble coming to Silvermoon. The reason she needed an escort.

The Dragonlily was a high elf. And Sethyl was enamored with her.

Tyan felt her skin crawl at bit at the thought—honestly, why couldn’t he have at least settled for another sin'dorei? Was he turned off by the fel taint, even though he bore it as well? Tyan abruptly sheathed her sword and crossed her arms as she looked over Liila. "Why are you so early then?"

For the first time since her rescue, Liila frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"You're not supposed to be here until noon."

"Wren said I was supposed to come early." Even as Tyan stared at her, puzzled as to how plans could change so last minute, Liila pulled her stone out of her pocket and frowned. For a moment, the magics of Silvermoon looked as though they were ready to block the usage of her trinket. However, she'd heard rumors that stronger magic—like in Felwood and the Maelstrom—was often on the verge of having a mind of its own, and so she reached out into the chaos of tumbling spells until she felt something that drew away from her attention. Most spells were incapable of registering that they were being watched, so for one to flee meant that it was what she was looking for.

She reached toward it again with her thoughts, gently, letting the spells around her get a feel for her and see that, while she might loathe the people they had been created by or designed to protect, she had no desire to harm them.

The spells didn't brush back or acknowledge her, and for a moment she thought that perhaps there was a difference between 'wild' and manufactured magic, but her stone glimmered to life. She offered brief thanks before returning her attention to the world of mortals.

She brought up the message from Wren and showed it to the others. Tyan was awed by it, though she paused and glanced at the emissaries as she noticed they each sported similar stones on their ears. She'd never considered that their earrings might be some secret form of communication before. Though…those stones were much smaller, and she wondered if perhaps she was just seeing connections where there weren't any.

"Well, Sethyl hadn't heard anything about that," Tyan offered. It still felt strange talking to the three of them so casually, and she stood a bit to the side once she was done examining the message. She focused on trying to hide her curiosity about the stone as she looked back at Liila.

"Someone's lying to me then. Either outright or by omission."

"Or something happened, and Sethyl didn't hear about it," Tyan defended. "After all, if you were supposed to be here early, then where's Wren?"

Liila stopped. "Good point." She considered the Alliance spy and tilted her head. It couldn't be…could it? Or had something else happened? Was someone gunning for her specifically, or was this just an idle game, like something Haa'aji would have done? Wren didn't seem the type to play on that level, and Liila hesitated before looking down. She tapped her stone a few times, and the runes over it changed. "I have…almost fifty minutes then." She tilted her head. "Huh. I would've thought our little scuffle lasted longer than that. It certainly felt like it did." She stilled for a moment, her fingers in the air in front of her as thought she was counting something in her head. "In that case… I stowed most of my things in the Ruins of Lordaeron so that I wouldn't need to carry so much around while I was here. I think perhaps this day can be salvaged, so I'm going to go change into something less bloodied, and I'll try to be back before noon."

Cheneta crossed her arms and motioned for Liila to go. "I think nearly getting murdered is as good a reason as any to be a bit late. Tatai and I will stay until you get back and let anyone who comes for you know what's happened."

Liila inspected Cheneta before nodding. "It's appreciated." However, even as she turned toward the ramp leading up to the orb, she paused, her fingers clasping around air near her neck. She looked around the floor. "I've lost my ring."

Tatai made a shooing motion, his tusks emphasizing his frown. "Ya go get all prettied up 'n all dat elvish nonsense 'n we find it, yeh?"

Tyan straightened up, guilt weaving its way into her mind and settling there. Even as the orb flashed and Liila disappeared, Tyan looked around and then bent quickly to pick up a dull shimmer near one of the walls. The ring and it's broken chain were splattered with blood from when she'd first tried to chop off Liila's head. However, it was Sethyl's craftsmanship that she noticed first and foremost. She clenched her fingers around the ring and then glanced up, pausing as her gaze happened across the hall, and she thought she saw a bit of black hair and robe disappear into a doorway. Had someone been watching? Dismissing it—after all, who would watch their debacle and not come over to make sure all parties were well?—she started up toward the orb herself. "I'm going to bring this to her now—"

"Afta wat ya jus' did, Ah wouldn't," Tatai murmured, holding his hand out for the ring. "We send her ya apologehs."

Tyan forced a thin smile and then grudgingly handed the ring over. "As you wish…I do have a zeppelin to catch."

~"~

Liila finished scrubbing the last of her body and slipped back onto the shore, the brittle grass prickling her bare feet as she walked across it to her belongings. Even a she quickly toweled her hair and then the rest of her, she had to wonder what had changed.

She'd been dreading this day, and she'd had the perfect way to get out of it. Sure, some might be skeptical if she claimed she'd been traumatized by the attack, but really, they'd have to reconsider dragging her back here after today's events.

However, when she'd been there, all alone and wondering where she fit into everything, to see Tatai and Cheneta, to hear how Haa'aji and her own antics had led to some rather bizarre—and unwanted—adventures… Somehow it fit. This was who she was. Even if before the fall of Silvermoon, she'd been an upstanding, proper young elf who was well respected by the people who knew her, she would always be the Dragonlily.

Still, it would be good to know where she'd come from. If she had family still alive, then perhaps she could be reunited. Perhaps she could know the simple things that so many took for granted, like where she'd been born and how old she was.

If not, it didn't matter. She was a legend, and she had a family. She had Haa'aji.

As she slipped on a long black dress that had a beaded pattern woven along the hems of her neck and skirt, she felt like more herself than she had in months. Her arms were bared, her scars there for all to see. Really, she would have worn a shirt over them, if only to stop unnecessary conversations from starting, but then, the one shirt she normally wore under it was a bloody mess. Originally, she'd worn the closest she could get to what she'd seen the sin'dorei wearing around Orgrimmar—a simple, delicate, white blouse with a long, red pleated-skirt. She'd wanted to make as few waves as possible during her visit, but then where was the fun in that?

What was the worst they could do? Kill her? Capture her and lock her away in some magical prison? Haa'aji and the others would have her out within the month.

She felt silly as she realized what her real problem had been. What had really been holding her back was some foolish notion that finding her past _had_ to change anything. Because it didn't.

Even as she tugged at her waist to make sure her dress was in place, she heard a soft crunch of feet on the broken bricks surrounding the hole in the wall she'd slipped through to get to the lake.

Looking up, she paused when she saw Tyan. She eyed her as she slipped on a bracelet over one of her hands. It had originally been a necklace that Piikiitwo had worn around his neck, but she just twisted it around half a dozen times until it fit snuggly on her wrist. The feathers were still stained with her beloved mount's blood, but she couldn't bring herself to replace them yet.

"Come to finish me off?"

"I wanted to apologize."

Liila tilted her head and looked Tyan over more carefully. "For?"

"Don't play dumb," Tyan frowned. "If I'd known you were Liila, I wouldn't have attacked you. Sethyl mentioned that you were coming, but I thought it'd be later and…" she trailed off a moment before blurting, "the only reason I was so early was because I was trying to avoid you to begin with."

"Oh?" Liila made it up the bank with her things in a blink, and Tyan was surprised by how fast the little caster moved.  Liila tussled her hair as though to make it dry faster as she stood next to Tyan. "If you didn't know I was me, how were you going to be sure to avoid me?"

"Please don't play games," Tyan murmured, reaching up and rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I…Sethyl's quite taken with you. He never said you were a high elf, though. I thought I'd get out of town before you were to arrive and that I wouldn't have to worry about how awkward it would be to see the two of you…together…" She trailed off as she looked back at Liila and saw her blank expression. "…Why are you looking at me like that?"

Liila narrowed her eyes slowly as she tilted her head. "I'm debating smacking you. Or just throwing you in the lake."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me explain something," Liila slung an arm over Tyan's shoulders, turning her around as they started heading back toward the orb. As Tyan glanced at her, wondering if cutting her down would really be so bad, she paused when she realized Liila's extra belongings were gone. She glanced over her shoulder, but couldn't see where the priest had dropped off her stuff. "Most of the time in the Horde, drama involves someone stealing another's kill, dishonoring a fellow warrior in battle, a dispute over who brought shame to who. That sort of thing." Liila pointed toward Tyan. "Then you elves come along and…forgive me for this, but it's like you're human." She smiled quickly as Tyan bristled at the word. "You have to complain about your boots, your clothes, how things are 'dirtier' than you're used to. Your drama is really just your lot looking down your nose at the rest of us and then you turn around and get all tangled in relationship problems that—at the end of the day—leave you more vulnerable than the rest of us. X likes Y but Y was with Z while Z was also with X and A at the same time and now everything is awkward for everyone."

She paused and then looked at Tyan with a critical stare. "Do you understand?"

"You think we're pettier than the rest of the Horde?"

"You are quite succinct. I like it."

Tyan planted her feet in the ground, forcing Liila to release her as she took another step forward before turning to face her. "So why are you bringing this up?"

"You are trying to drag me into elf drama, and I will have you know that I will claw your eyes out before I will participate in any such nonsense."

"Act as high and mighty as you want," Tyan snapped back, crossing her arms. "But you're already in it. Maybe because You. Are. An. Elf."

"Lies."

She scrunched her nose as she stared at Liila and then shook her head. "I don’t care if you're an honorary tauren or whatever today—"

"Today I am a forsaken."

"Whatever you want, sweetie," Tyan shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. "But at the end of the day, it's those pointy ears and thin waist that people see. Not some tabard that you're not even wearing. And Sethyl has feelings for you. And you're right. I have feelings for him." She straightened up, cockily. "So whether you _want_ to be a part of our drama or not, you're in it."

"The claws come out," Liila murmured, her eyes dancing before she quickly masked her expression, pulling her guild stone from her pocket and inspecting it. She tilted her head. "I like you. You're not as annoying as most elves."

"You are an elf, too."

"We will have to agree to disagree…" Liila pocketed her stone. "I do not feel like waiting until noon to meet with this magister." She blinked sweetly toward Tyan. "Perhaps you could show me where to go…?"

"No."

"I'd consider us even for your trying to murder me."

Tyan frowned. "Even if I wanted to help you, I have to get to Orgrimmar. The zeppelin is leaving soon, but I wanted to make sure you were okay…" she took in a breath, regretting her earlier intentions, "and, like I said, to apologize."

"Hmm…we'll even the score another time then," Liila murmured and shrugged. "A pity. I did want to get this behind me." She pulled out her stone and made a few extra taps before scrawling out a quick message. "You'd best hurry. The captain of The Thundercaller will hold the zeppelin for a moment, but not long."

Tyan blinked and then paled. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to hurry if you want to catch that ride."

Even as Tyan started forward, she looked back at Liila. "I hurt you. Why would you…why would you help me?"

"Apologies mean a lot," Liila shrugged and then offered her a small wave, "especially from egotistical xenophobes." As Tyan scowled and started rushing off to get to her ride, Liila added, "You can just owe me for it later…"

She waited a moment before heading back toward the orb of translocation at a brisk pace. "Now then, time to play by my rules…"

~"~

Sethyl's father couldn't believe that his son had never come home the night before. Where was he? Was he alright? Had he decided he didn't want to help this Liila, after all? Just as Wren waved off his latest apology for having kept the farstrider there all night—Wren figured that, worst case, he would go to meet Liila at the original time and then loiter with her for the next five hours, maybe go over different policies in Silvermoon after all—the door to the shop swung open, and Sethyl stumbled through, looking mildly panicked and incredibly hung over.

His shirt was buttoned wrong, and his hair fell crazily around him. However, somehow, he still managed to be aware enough to frown upon seeing his fellow guild mate. "Wren, what are you doing here?"

"The time for Liila's escort was changed, and I can't find my stone to tell her."

Sethyl blinked and checked the time on an old clock hanging on the wall. "It's a little late now...she'll be here in...ten minutes." He cried out and darted toward the stairs, as though to attempt to throw himself together in so little time.

Wren caught his attention. "I'll go meet her now, if you can just let her know that it's going to be a while."

With a nod, Sethyl clumsily pulled out his guild stone and sent out a quick message. However, before his foot could even hit the top step, it chimed with a reply. He paused to read it before blanching and whirling back toward the door. He nearly fell back down the stairs as he dropped his stone over the banister. Wren hurried over and picked it up. Even as he held it out to Sethyl, who ignored him, he saw the runes flicker out of existence.

_Wren told me to come early, so I'm already here. Tyan was a lovely young lady, by the way. A bit of a temper, though. I'd say you have to watch for that, but, well…_

~"~

As Wren and Sethyl hurried to the translocation orb, Wren slowed to a stop, frowning when he saw a cloaked figure walking quickly down the road.

"Sethyl," he grabbed Sethyl's shoulder, jerking him to a stop. Even as Sethyl gave him a frustrated glare, he looked back at him, anger seething in his eyes. "Send me a message."

"What?" Sethyl felt like the world was going mad. "You don't have your stone."

"Send me a message. It can be a single letter for all I care."

Though he was somewhat puzzled as to why this would matter, it occurred to him that perhaps Wren thought he'd dropped his stone when he first came back to the city. Seeing as they _were_ in the courtyard in front of the Sunspire, he grudgingly scrawled a quick 'hi' into his stone and then started toward the translocation orb again. Surely Liila wouldn't have gone into the city by herself. Was she insane? And why would she involve Tyan?

How would Tyan know that Liila was a good high elf? He paled as he considered that Liila might be mind controlling Tyan into defending her. She wouldn’t stoop so low, would she?

As he tore into the building, barely dodging around a few guards who eyed him with suspicion, Wren barely heard a soft chime come from the direction of the cloaked figure heading off down a side street. He started toward the man even as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, round stone. Wren's stone.

Something inside of him snapped.

It wasn't about the guild stone. Or the fact that Adrias had lied to him about having it. Or even that he had probably stolen it in the first place. It was that he always did this. Every time something was wrong in his life, it was because of something Adrias had done. If people started looking at him like he was scum, it was because his brother had dragged down his good name. He barely had anyone who would associate with him in Silvermoon as it was because it was clear that Adrias had put a target on Wren and hurt most anyone who got too close.

Going to Orgrimmar had been like a chance at a new life for Wren. It had been a chance to go somewhere where most everyone would be oblivious to his familial discord. A place where he wasn’t the youngest Duskflame, but just Wren.

If anything happened to Liila because _he'd_ lost his stone, how would the rest of the guild react? Would they kick him out? Would he be able to find another guild? Or would it matter? Would Adrias just continue to ruin everything until it finally drove Wren to jump off something overlooking sharp rocks?

"Adrias!" Wren screamed the name as he sprung off the cobblestones and into his brother, who turned around in time to see the attack, but not with enough time to do anything about it. In a second, Wren had Adrias pinned to the ground, his forearm across his brother's throat as he jerked his guild stone away from him.

Adrias gasped and clawed at his brother's arm. Wren pressed down harder. However, as angry as he was, he knew that it wasn't worth it to get arrested for fighting in the streets, and he jerked to his feet, glaring down at his brother and kicking at his legs to hurry him up as well. "For once in your miserable life could you think of someone other than yourself? You could have gotten Liila killed!"

Rubbing his throat gingerly, Adrias looked up at Wren, amused. "You mean the Dragonlily?"

Wren's eye twitched. "What have you done?"

"Not much," Adrias grinned, triumphant. "But if you want to keep her from doing anything stupid, you might want to head over to the Magister's."

Even as Wren tried to remember where the magister lived, Adrias rose to his feet, dusting off his robes calmly, as though he hadn't just been choked. As he combed his fingers through his hair to put it back in place, he tilted his head. "By the way, what do you think the guards would do if they found out that pretty little sin'dorei with two of the emissaries for the Horde is actually a high elf?"

Wren froze, looking back at him slowly.

"I'd like to know how she did that, by the way…made her presence feel like that of a blood elf's."

Wren scowled and ran his fingers through his hair before pausing to write out a quick note to Sethyl and then hurrying toward one of the guards watching him with deep frowns. He had to find Liila.

~"~

Wren had to say he was amazed at how well Sethyl could sprint when he wanted to. After sending him the message, the paladin had caught up to him surprisingly fast. Perhaps it'd just been because Wren was unsure where to go to get to Magister Lightsarrow's home even with directions, as it was not a part of town he frequented, but it seemed like Sethyl had found him with uncanny speed.

The duo had startled more than a few priests on their way through the more peaceful part of the city. Wren was used to the darkened allies that warlocks frequented, and he was surprised that there was still a part of the city that retained such serenity. Sethyl was slightly unnerved that somehow this area alone seemed to have been unphased by the Scourge, though there were considerably less elves walking around than he'd remembered seeing when he was a boy.

However, even as they turned the last corner, they saw Liila stepping out of one of the gates. Both of them slowed dramatically as they saw the bright smile on her face as she offered a half bow to an older elf. The man had the beginnings of gray in his hair as he laughed and returned the bow, pausing to speak softly to an orc woman and troll man who stepped out into the street after Liila.

Wren narrowed his eyes. "Aren't those…?"

Before he could finish his sentence, the troll frowned and pointed toward the duo. As the others turned their attention toward Liila's guild mates, they realized that they stood out noticeably, their hair wild and their clothes roughed up—Sethyl's from his drinking binge and Wren from his fight.

The magister knit his brow together but offered the duo a quick wave before disappearing back into his school.

Sethyl remembered his purpose and jogged the last few yards to Liila as she and her companions strolled toward them. When he reached them, he gripped Liila by her shoulders, slightly unnerved by her sudden expressiveness. And the fact that her eyes were a brilliant green and, unlike before, she actually felt like a blood elf.

"What did you do to Tyan?"

"Hmm?" Liila arched her eyebrows and frowned. "Don't you mean what did she do to me? I was nothing by sweet."

"Hardly," Tatai muttered.

As Wren caught up, Liila threw out a few casual introductions, though Sethyl barely registered them. "Where is she?"

"Tyan?"

"You know that's who I'm talking about," he frowned, imagining his friend. She wasn't hurt, was she?

"She's flying to Orgrimmar as we speak," Liila tilted her head, watching Sethyl as he ran a hand down his face and then locked his brilliant green eyes on her. He must have hit up some of mana crystals during his run over. "She's quite fond of you, you know." Liila gave him a calm smile and motioned off, "And you seem to feel the same…unless…you don't have one of those hero complexes, do you? Where you have to save every damsel you meet, whether they're in distress or not?"

"Liila…" Sethyl looked like he might smack her for a moment and for a moment, he honestly felt like he might. However, he walked over to the nearest stone wall surrounding one of the yards to the different priesthoods' buildings and leaned against it, covering his face with his hands.

Cheneta clucked her tongue softly. "Why do the people around you always look so exhausted?"

"Because Dragonlileh be a bitch…" Tatai snapped, though he slumped his shoulders as Liila hugged him.

"I know you love me, deep down."

"Do Ah look like Haa'aji?"

"No," Liila sighed. "Haa'aji is much more rugged and handsome. You, on the other hand, have become a docile, city troll."

"Wooman, Ah swear Ah gonna—"

"Tatai," Cheneta snapped, reaching up and flicking one of his ears. Both Wren and Sethyl suffered sympathy flinches, their own ears aching from the thought of getting thwacked. "We've wasted enough time playing around. We should get back to our duties."

The two offered quick farewells as they darted off, back to where the rest of the emissaries were no doubt readying to take another Light-forsaken tour of the city while they waited to be seen.

Liila stared after them and then shook her head slowly. "Wren. Is there any way you could pull some strings to get them seen sooner?"

"Not after all the ones I pulled to get you here," he replied, his smile tight. When Liila looked back at him, head cocked, he took in a slow breath. "You're five hours ahead of schedule." He paused and checked where the sun was overhead. "Well, more like four now…"

"Yes, well," Liila clasped her hands in front of her and arched her eyebrows as she looked him over. "Someone lost their stone. And someone else told me to come early. I was already here, at the school, when you messaged me with the right time, so I didn't see a point in leaving and coming back."

Even as Wren took in a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut, Sethyl glanced around and then motioned awkwardly toward Liila. "Well then?" When she merely tilted her head, he motioned with his chin toward Magister Lightsarrow's school. "Do you know your real name?"

"Not a clue," she shrugged, though for the first time she looked slightly wistful. "The ring wasn't mine. It belonged to a Terrathane Morningblossom. She was about three inches taller, red haired, and far bustier than I've ever been." Liila glanced down toward her hands, "Though apparently she had very tiny fingers for a woman of her stature."

For a moment, both men forgot their frustrations. Sethyl frowned. "But that means…"

"The only lead to my past was a red herring," Liila shrugged. "I…thought he might do something like this." She was quiet before her expression blanked slightly. "At least Miss Morningblossom's father can have her ring back."

"But you're somebody's little girl, too," Sethyl murmured, taking both Wren and Liila by surprise. "Someone's got to be missing you."

"The only people missing me are in Orgrimmar," Liila replied softly. "Anyone here is missing someone who died a long time ago." As she patted his arm, he frowned, seeing the blackened scars running up her arm. He'd never realized how extensive the injuries had been.

Liila paused and then turned to Wren, pointing her index fingers toward him, her hands still clasped. "I don’t suppose you could tell the captain or whoever it was who was supposed to be my official escort that I won't be needing them anymore, would you?" She hesitated. "I mean, I can find him, but I have a feeling that it's going to be sooner than later that someone figures out that I'm not as fel tainted as the rest of you."

"Magister Lightsarrow never noticed?"

"Oh, he did," Liila shrugged. "I mean, I told him right away."

Wren eyed her. "Told him what?"

"That your mages made me able to blend for the duration of my stay so that I wouldn't have a giant target on my back and that I am looking into becoming a sin'dorei myself."

Wren hesitated and then turned to go find Captain Dawningblade. However, he paused a few steps away. "But that's not what really happened, is it?"

"It wasn't really their intent, but it was your mages who enabled me." She glanced around the street and then lightly tapped a small red gem on one of her ears. "Let's just say you guys got a little confused about the point of orbs of deception and made yours wrong."

"I'm going to hope for a better explanation when we get back to Orgrimmar," Wren murmured and then shook his head, turning and hurrying off to find his way to the captain. With luck, he wouldn't be stuck listening to Jaserisk complain about all the effort that had been wasted for very long. Perhaps he could just have another farstrider relay a message…

As he disappeared around a corner, Sethyl started to walk after him, though Liila reached out and lightly gripped the fabric of his shirt. "I wanted to talk to you in private, if you would indulge me?"

He stopped for a moment, his shoulders sagging as he realized how worn out he was. When he'd woken up on Tyan's couch, it had been by rolling off of it onto the floor, and that had been a rather harsh awakening. His crash had disoriented him, and it had taken him a minute to realize he wasn't home. By the time he put everything together, his head had been pounding, though he'd hardly noticed that or the curious stares people had given him as they watched him stumble home.

Even as he tried to think past the throbbing in his head which had finally found the time to make itself first and foremost in his mind, he felt the light washing over him, though it was so much colder than when he typically used it. He glanced toward Liila in time to see the glow receding from her fingertips.

"Thanks." He murmured. They stood in silence for a moment before he straightened up and blinked past his grogginess. "I think there's a park a few streets that way…it was never very crowded though. If you want, we could go there." He paused before adding, "Maybe you'll recognize something there."

Liila's smile nearly broke his heart as she downcast her eyes and shook her head, though she did start in that direction.

Their journey was as silent as the time they'd gone to Winterspring, though this time it was Liila who allowed her gaze to wander, curious, and Sethyl who stayed focused on their destination. The park itself was more of an empty lot which had been converted by a few priests during their free time before the Scourge had hit. A few simple benches sat atop the lush grass and under the twisting trees that Eversong was so famous for.

No one else was there, but he still led Liila to the furthest bench, the one that offered the most privacy. After she slid onto the bench, he sat down beside her and leaned forward against his knees, his head bent down almost as though he were praying.

Liila took in their surroundings for another moment, wondering what it was like for her when she'd been accustomed to such a place, and if she'd ever come to this spot when she lived in Silvermoon. Assuming she had. Perhaps she'd been born in one of the smaller towns to the south and had never made it to Silvermoon itself. There was a strange beauty about it that was different from any other place she'd ever been and for a moment she wanted to insist on a full tour of the city, not to see if she could remember anything, but just so she could see what it was that the elves held so dear to them. She could see why they seemed disheartened when they saw Orgrimmar's streets versus their own. The cultural differences were night and day.

"You wanted to talk, didn't you?"

Liila blinked and looked down, her fingers lightly clasped around one of the fiery leaves hanging over them. Sethyl was watching her, looking tired. At the same time, though, there was something in his eyes, like he'd been watching her be awed by his home for some time and thought it was...endearing.

"Sethyl, I do not wish to be indelicate, but—"

"It almost sounds like you're breaking up with me." He sat up and leaned against the back of the bench, "which would only make sense if we'd ever been a couple."

"Well," Liila rolled her eyes. "People keep telling me that you've grown fond of me, and I just didn't want to lead you astray."

Sethyl let out a bark of a laugh as he stared at her, his expression incredulous. Then he looked at the grass and shook his head slowly. "You remind me of my little brother."

Liila blinked. While she'd been trying to think how best to explain that her heart belonged to another—without drawing a great deal of attention to her unrequited love for fear of giving him hope—she hadn't been expecting that. She arched her eyebrows. "Your little brother?"

"He was annoying and infuriating and hopeless and…" Sethyl trailed off. "…and I'd give anything in this world or any other to have him back." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "To find out that he was living in some Alliance settlement with amnesia. Just to know that he was breathing, smiling, laughing…" His voice caught in his throat. He drew in a slow breath before he lifted his head and looked back at Liila. "You remind me of him, so I wanted to help you. It's not…love." He reached out and tussled Liila's hair. "So you can spare me the break up speech."

Liila nodded slowly and then glanced out across the park. "You might want to let Tyan know. She's quite upset about the thought that you might be interested in another elf. Particularly a quel'dorei." Liila looked back at him and put a hand over her mouth. "Can you imagine the scandal?"

Sethyl laughed and nudged her. "Keep it down, would you? I don't need someone walking by to hear you and think you're some sort of spy." As Liila rolled her eyes and leaned back on the bench, again turning her attention toward their surroundings, he shook his head. "My friend Ralarr is in love with Tyan though, so she and I are never going to happen." He paused and frowned when Liila eyed him. "I wouldn't betray him like that."

Silence fell over the two again for a moment before Liila shrugged. "The obvious answer is that the two of you must duel to the death for her."

"Is it?" Sethyl arched an eyebrow. "I've already told you I have no intention of chasing after Tyan, and you want me to kill my best friend for her?" He hesitated and then shook his head. "Because you can make fun of my ability to fight all you want, but at the end of the day, Ralarr may be a good fighter, but I'd kick his ass."

"I know. Who'd have thought healing pallies would be so skilled in combat?"

"I am a ret pally. I do not heal."

"Not well, from what I've heard. Magister's Terrace was a blemish on paladin healing records everywhere."

Sethyl's mouth twisted as he tried not to smile. "Your lot are intent on making me go holy, aren't you?"

"We don't need another tank."

"It's not—" He cut himself off and leaned his head into his hands. "You're trying to drive me mad."

"You wouldn't be any good to us mad, would you?" Liila shrugged, her face serious for a moment. Even as Sethyl laughed and shook his head, she heard a soft chime and pulled her stone from her pocket. Her eyes scanned over the message on her stone, detailing how Gregor and Timmons had been cursed by a quilboar. She stiffened, her expression blanking.

Sethyl frowned and leaned over to read the message as well. "What is this…?" Liila checked the time the message had been sent and frowned, "What's wrong with my stone…?"

"You do realize that it's pretty much last night in Kalimdor right now, right? Or very early morning."

Liila considered it in her head and then shook her head slowly. "I always get confused by the time difference."

"It took some getting used to when I first went to Orgrimmar," Sethyl offered, though he pointed back at her stone. She was already scrawling out a message. "What was that about though? Gregor and Timmons aren't dead anymore? Was that some sort of joke?"

Liila's runes flickered out of existence. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out." She paused and scrawled out another quick message to Margaret, requesting that she bring Liila's belongings from 'the usual place' in the runes of Lordaeron when she came back to Orgrimmar.

"I hope everything's okay," Sethyl offered, even as runes wrapped around Liila, and she faded out. When she was gone he stared at where she'd been for a moment and then laughed faintly, scratching the back of his neck. "My little brother? That's the best I could do…?"

He sat there another moment before rising to his feet and heading home. He figured that this time, at least, his father deserved a proper goodbye.


	26. Hopes and Resentments

As the summons runes flickered out of existence, Haa'aji snapped his fingers at Cinder, much to her distaste, "We be needin' heals—"

"Doesn't look it," the druid muttered, walking past him. She nearly hit him in the face as she flipped her hair, and for once he didn't dodge it. As Cinder hurried up and clasped hands with Liila, the little elf gave her a faint greeting, her pale blue eyes already scanning their surroundings for something.

Haa'aji felt indignation rising in his gut as he glanced back down at the message on his guild stone and then looked back at his little elf. "Ya don' be lookin' like ya just nearleh got ya head chopped off…" he hissed, his gaze narrowed as he tried to calm himself down. While he knew Liila couldn't stay dead, he'd never seen what happened if she was actually dismembered and didn’t want to learn the hard way that it was her one true weakness.

Thus, when he'd gotten her message saying she'd been attacked, he'd felt like he was going to kill himself some elves if she came back irreparably damaged—or at least, more so than she usually was.

"Oh, that happened a while ago," Liila murmured her gaze inspecting Cinder and Enlyhn before she turned her attention back to Haa'aji. "I ran into Cheneta, and she healed me. Tatai is still mad at us, by the way…" She paused and crossed her arms. For a breath, silence settled over the four, but she couldn't handle it. As Haa'aji watched her look over their surroundings again, it occurred to him that she hadn't sent him a distress call until _he'd_ sent out his message about Gregor and Timmons. His eye twitched as her next question confirmed his suspicions. "What's this about certain guild mates having heartbeats?"

Haa'aji stared at her blankly. His head tilted to the side, and a slow frown overtook his features. After all this time, after all his warnings…that she could still come running like this…

Even as Liila avoided eye contact with him, he felt Cinder and Enlyhn's eyes upon him. It was a rare occasion when he lost his calm, and it was a sore hit to his pride that there had been an audience this time. However, as much as he would have liked to fall into playful bickering to dismiss his earlier concern, he found his mood too sour to comply.

Ever since their meeting in the Plaguelands, years ago, Liila and Haa'aji had only ever truly failed to see eye to eye on one issue. On any other subject, one or the other could be swayed to at least meet in the middle ground. But not this. This was the one weakness of Liila's that Haa'aji couldn't free her from.

Timmons Burlaste.

Haa'aji loathed the damned warlock, though he made sure nothing too horrible ever befell him, as Liila was so smitten with the rotting sack of bones. How many times had he tried to reason with her? Tried to point out that as a dead creature, Timmons could never be there for her as a man should. He was dead, and she wasn't. She deserved a chance at everything life offered, a stable home, a family, children, all that woman stuff that most females held in such high regard.

And yet Liila had never seemed to want any of that. No, she was content with the life she had now, because _somehow_ Timmons was her savior. While yes, he had been the one to give Liila that pale scar running down her left arm, breaking the hold those runes had had over her free will, Haa'aji hardly considered that an act of heroism. After all, there were but two ways to make the runes light up long enough to do anything to them. Either a death knight had to summon them—at the time of Timmons' 'heroism', the knights had all still belonged to the Scourge—or after they brought her back to life.

It had never been put into words, partially because Timmons and Liila had some unspoken agreement to never say what had happened and partially because it disgusted Haa'aji too much to say it aloud, but Timmons had killed Liila to free her from those runes.

Haa'aji had a need to know most everything going on around him, but of all the information in the world, how Timmons had done it was lost to him. Really, he knew Liila would tell him if he asked, but he couldn't. He couldn't hear that Timmons had smothered her or snapped her neck or drowned her…he couldn't hear anything like that and then let that warlock continue existing. She was like a sister to him, someone to protect, to keep safe from monsters like Bloodsworn and Timmons.

So long as he didn't ask and she didn't tell, he could almost pretend that it hadn't happened. That maybe some other miracle had brought the runes to the surface long enough for her to be freed.

Even if he didn't know how, he still knew the truth, as much as he wanted to pretend he didn't. And that truth left him reviling Timmons. Liila deserved so much more than to spend the rest of her life occasionally clasping hands with or resting her head on a dead man's shoulder.

And so he'd tried to get her to see what the world of life had to offer. And every time she stumbled into a relationship, he'd hoped, prayed that it would be enough to break her of her inexplicable infatuation with Timmons.

And each time those relationships had ended with her quietly breaking it off. Haa'aji would come back from a hit or a surveillance mission or even just an idle damned walk to see Liila and Timmons sitting side by side, joking together. As the warlock would look up and offer a casual wave as though he didn't know how much the troll despised him, Haa'aji would see the way Liila's eyes lingered on Timmons', and he'd wanted to die inside.

So long as Liila could be close to that monster, she'd been happy.

But now…dear gods, with that despicable heartbeat pummeling Timmons' breastbone, would Liila be thinking of doing something stupid? Like confessing her feelings? She could be so intelligent, but surely in her weakness she wasn't looking at Mitchell's botched experiments as some beacon of hope that her love might someday be realized.

Cinder and Enlyhn looked from one to the other as Haa'aji stewed in his anger, and Liila looked at each of them expectantly, pretending not to see how angry her closest friend was. The two of them rarely had genuine disagreements, so to see them at odds with one another had piqued both of their audience's curiosity. Cinder, however, knew better than to ask what was going on. If there was a secret between the two, it would easily go to their graves. She offered a quick, hushed explanation of Mitchell's research and that he and his two experiments were entertaining the important people at the moment.

"If Timmons and Gregor are alive—"

"We don' be knowin' what dey be right now," Haa'aji snapped, forgetting that he was trying to convince people that there had been no experiment so as not to incite riots in forsaken territories.

"All the more reason for me to see them, then," Liila spoke softly. Her expression was surprisingly neutral, and for a moment, Cinder wondered if perhaps she were falling into another void tantrum.

"Cinda alreadeh healed dem."

"And if our travels have taught us anything, it's that _no_ one healer can cure every ailment. Perhaps a priest's perspective—"

Before she could finish her argument, what sounded like a strangled scream escaped Haa'aji's throat, and he threw his hands up in the air, abruptly stalking off into the Drag. He paused only to spit to the side when Enlyhn asked him where he was going. "Ya got dis, mon. Ya not be needin' meh ta hold nahbodeh's hand."

Both Cinder and Enlyhn's jaws hung slack as their guild mate disappeared into the shadows in the blink of an eye. However, even as Cinder forgot her earlier determination to stay quiet about the argument, she turned to Liila and felt her heart skip a beat.

The little priest's gaze was on the entrance to Grommash Hold. She looked almost as though she were holding her breath. Cinder had never really known Liila during her worst times. By the time she and Haa'aji had come across the ocean, presenting themselves as members of the forsaken, both of them had already overcome their demons and were fairly intent on lives of mischief to make up for their months of misery. However, the look that now played on Liila's face was what she imagined one would look like upon seeing light for the first time after months of being trapped in dark caves. Like some unknown hope had just been stirred.

Cinder followed Liila's gaze and saw Gore leading the rest of their guild mates out of the building, with Gregor and Mitchell matching pace almost directly behind him and Timmons loitering in the back, his pace considerably slower than the others. His hood had been pulled so far down that it practically covered all of his nose—it was a wonder he could even see to walk—and his frown looked more pronounced than she'd known a human face capable of.

As Gore started down the steps, he had to say he wasn't surprised by Haa'aji's disappearance. However, the soft hiss that came from behind him from Timmons hadn't been expected. When he glanced over his shoulder, he could feel the hostility rolling off the warlock. For a breath, he couldn’t figure out what could have triggered Timmons' mood to worsen. After all, while he'd been annoyed by Lady Sylvanas' scrutiny, he hadn't seemed overly concerned that she was unpleased with the progress Mitchell had made. However, as he turned his attention back toward the street in front of them, he saw Liila straighten up, her expression shifting from something he hadn't managed to catch to one of calculated calm as she took a few steps toward them.

Even as he puzzled over it, Liila and the other two swept up to meet them. Liila stopped short a few feet, and it looked like it was a chore for her to tear her gaze away from Timmons and focus on Mitchell and Gregor.

Even as Mitchell threw himself forward to drape his arms over Liila's shoulders—Cinder was hardly someone for him to cry to as she hated him, and he figured that if anyone could feel for his plight, it would be his favorite elf—and go off on a rant about genius minds being underappreciated, Timmons abruptly picked up his pace and stalked past them, the dry dust of the road billowing about his feet as he hurried away.

With Mitchell acting as a new cloak, Liila couldn't well chase after him, and her attempts to look like he wasn't her main concern shattered when she called out his name. Even as Mitchell lifted his head from her shoulder, more out of irritation that he'd been interrupted and was apparently still underappreciated than any concern for where Timmons might be wandering off to, the warlock had merely slowed his pace enough to glare in their direction.

While none of them could see his eyes, they could feel a burning sensation in the back of their minds. He was in no mood for celebrations.

"Timmons," Liila called out again, carefully untangling herself from Mitchell and starting after him.

The warlock stopped in his tracks and whirled to face her, faint traces of red creeping into his pallid cheeks. "What?"

There was such venom in his voice that Liila's steps faltered, though she didn't stop completely until she was in front of him. She reached out her hand toward his.  "I thought…maybe I could check how you're doing…perhaps I could—"

"Don't touch me!" Timmons hissed, recoiling from her.

Liila's brow knit together. "Why are you being like this?"

Timmons took a few jerky steps backwards as he gave her the bird. "I don't need some corrupted priest trying to cast spells on me so just…just leave me the fuck alone!"

~"~

Wren wasn't typically one for drinking at bars. Before he'd joined Impervious, he normally found himself cracking a few mana crystals into a bottle of Silvermoon port and then nursing his drink alone in his room or in some quiet corner of his family's manor, praying to anything that might listen that Adrias would be too preoccupied sleeping with another man's wife to bother him.

Tonight, however…

Even if he hadn't done enough to get himself in trouble with the guard, he didn't doubt that Adrias would have run home to their father. It wasn't that his older brother was some centuries-old tattle tale, but that he couldn't keep his mouth shut when it came to Wren.

No doubt Adrias was plotting some act of vengeance against his brother for today's public humiliation—really there'd been hardly anyone present to see, and those who did would've already viewed Adrias in ill regard, assuming they even knew him, but that hardly mattered to the idiot 'lock—and had gone to their father, asking how far he could go with his murderous schemes with them still being considered 'boys being boys'.

Dear Light and Nether both, once Adrias had practically scalped Wren as a youngling. Wren had refused to give him a toy, and Adrias had lashed out so vehemently that it had sent him fleeing to their father in hopes of safety. However, when he'd presented his father with the madness going on, the warlock had merely waved his hand and said, "Adrias was just trying to get you ready for the trolls, as you keep going on about being a farstrider. I take it you've learned to avoid getting cornered in such a manner?"

Worse yet, on the occasions that Wren did get angry enough to retaliate—it was odd how Adrias always played the victim when he was always the one to start their fights—his father always found the time to chastise _him_ , like he was still a damned youngling.

And with the look in Adrias' eyes as he loped away down the street, with shadows practically abandoning their posts to slither after him, Wren had little doubt in his mind that his brother was planning some form of 'payback'.

So either he would be attacked by something upon his return home or he would be met with a lecture about how Adrias was to be the grand warlock someday and how Wren needed to keep from doing anything that might diminish his brother's reputation—as though the warlock didn't do enough of that already.

He might have dared it, as his father's more recent lectures been on morality and forgiveness—two things that Wren had little doubt his father knew next to nothing about, and the irony of him being schooled by such a man on these topics was not lost to him.

Since he couldn't go home, Wren had found his way to one of the quieter bars in Silvermoon and found the perfect spot where he was all but invisible from the rest of the world and only someone truly leaving no stone unturned would stumble across him intentionally.

After all, even without his family drama, he'd have wanted to make himself scarce, at least for now. Why?  Because of the little stunt Liila had pulled.

Sethyl may have been quick to forgive her for sneaking into the city to find answers, but Wren was not. Sure, he wasn't fond of half the people he'd called favors in from, but that didn't mean he'd wanted them wasted. By the Sunwell, Captain Dawningblade had ranted at him for almost two hours about all the inconveniences he'd gone through. After all, switching guards' routes and hours, and finding a few who would be more tolerable of a high elf's presence to escort her hadn't been a walk in the park. And the captain's mood had only worsened when Wren had tried to joke that at least the two of them were even now.

Wren _did_ feel bad. So much had been done on Liila's behalf, and she'd basically just dismissed it. Seeing as he'd not seen her in her bloodied clothes and didn't know all of the details surrounding her meeting with Sethyl's paladin friend, he couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed her to stray from their plan. And honestly, if she'd had a trinket which could make her appear as a sin'dorei, why hadn't she said so? Nether's twisting paths, why didn't she just use that to blend in and find her answers on her own time? Why waste so many other people's instead?

While he might have been open to reasons and explanations earlier in the evening, with a few drinks in him, he was almost as mean a drunk as Sethyl. He didn't see how anything could be a reasonable excuse for such inconsideration, and it occurred to him that he ought to tell the little elf just that.

It was somewhat of a miracle that he was able to write out a coherent query into his guild stone, but he had to wonder if he'd managed to send it when no apologetic response was forthcoming.

After a few increasingly indignant messages to Liila's stone went unanswered, he managed to turn his stone's channel back to the generic one for everyone in the guild and sent out another message.

_If Liila had a damned trinket that could have gotten her into Silvermoon without the fuss, why go through all this nonsense?_

As he'd focused on spelling his words correctly with the sort of attention that only one incredibly high or wasted could muster, he'd failed to notice a young mage enter into the bar and wander down the row of booths, looking from one side of the room to another, searching for a quiet place to sit.

When she'd come to the end, she'd noticed Wren sitting by his lonesome and had wandered up to him, her hand half raised in a wave when she realized he was quite preoccupied. As he glared at his little stone, it didn't occur to him that he might have an audience. Just as curiosity overtook her, and she reached out to tap his shoulder and ask him about the pretty stone which held his attention so captive, green runes lit up in the air over the stone.

It was Enlyhn.

_Because we figured your lot would be able to tell between a trinket and the real thing? Considering she was nearly beheaded by that light lover, I can’t blame her for her reservations._

Wren frowned and tilted his head slowly, taking in the words.

_Nearly beheaded?_

_That's what I said._

Wren was far too drunk to comprehend what must have happened. Instead, he was still angry at Liila.

_Well why didn't she say so? She hasn't responded to any of my questions._

_Do I look like her keeper?_

Even as Wren's frown deepened, another message popped up. It was Margaret.

_Wait, when did you ask her? Just now?_

_Yes._

Wren's brow knit together as Enlyhn took the type to write out hysterical laughter. Even though Margaret responded with something, more laughter overwrote her words, and Wren found himself scrawling out an angry response.

_Enough! What's so funny?_

Margaret responded again, quickly.

_I wasn't there for it, but Liila and Timmons were arrested for dueling in the middle of Orgrimmar. They're in Grommash Hold's dungeons for the night. Gore had their stones taken so that the grunts wouldn't find them and so that they wouldn't try to plan an escape._

Wren stared at the words, tilting his head as he wondered just what had happened, his earlier anger abruptly dissipating. However, another string of laughter appeared from Enlyhn, and he quietly pocketed his stone as the warlock fell into a fight with Margaret and Sham, who was apparently trying to sleep and quite annoyed that her stone kept going off in the middle of the night with such unimportant drivel.

"That seems pretty useful," the mage standing beside Wren offered, finally, as he reached for his drink again.

Wren bolted upright, sloshing some of the liquid onto his fingers as he stared up at her in surprise. The young elf arched her eyebrows, her light orange hair framing her face prettily as she put a hand over her heart.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…"

As she kept speaking, Wren tried to think if he'd said anything important on his stone, but his memory was far too fuzzy for him to consider that he hadn't accidentally brought up any dire guild secrets in the last twenty minutes. It took him a moment to realize that the woman was staring at him expectantly, and he frowned. "What?"

"Your name?"

"Wren." He scratched the back of his head before remembering his manners and offering his guest a seat, though he would have rather stayed alone. "And yours…?"

She gave him a funny look as she slipped into the seat across the table from him. "Zeresa, like I said earlier."

"I'm sorry," Wren offered, leaning his face into his hands and rubbing his eyes quickly. When he sat back up, he offered her a small smile. "I'm afraid I'm not much for company tonight."

"And yet you invite me to sit down."

"I guess I'm not much for thinking tonight, either."

"You look like you could use someone to talk to."

Wren paused, looking her over more carefully. She was slender, as most any elven woman, and her ears were adorned with half a dozen different piercings. A few of them were through more brittle areas of cartilage, and he had to wonder if she was a fan of pain to have gotten them. He frowned as he leaned back in his seat. Either she knew him from his family's connections or she was after something else. Information on his stone, perhaps?

As he tried to think of a polite way to dismiss himself, Zeresa reached out and put her hand on his. "I'm sorry. If I'm truly bothering you, I can go. It's just…I haven't been back to Silvermoon in so long, and I was just…I just feel a little lost." She gave him an earnest, shy smile, and he suddenly saw the same sort of loneliness which hounded him in her softly glowing eyes. "I was just looking for someone to talk to. I shouldn't have bothered you—"

"No, stay," Wren found himself saying without thinking. He turned his hand over to catch hers and smiled. Perhaps a distraction would do him some good. Something that had nothing to do with his guild or his family or his favors. "You said you're just getting back into town? Where from?"

Zeresa hesitated before shrugging lightly. "The Plaguelands."

With a sympathetic frown, Wren nodded. "Ah. Not a pleasant trip, then."

"Anything but," she murmured, looking toward the wood of the table between them. She was quiet a moment before squeezing his hand. "I'd rather not talk about such things, if you don't mind. Perhaps, if you're up to date on gossip, you could tell me what I've missed in my absence?"

Wren straightened up and nodded, calling a waitress over and asking for a water as Zeresa ordered her first drink. Suddenly, the notion of being sober wasn't nearly as terrifying as it had been. As he sunk into banter with his newfound friend, a smile found its way back to his lips.

~"~

Renza'shi tapped the letter in his hands against the doorframe to Blood and Honor's makeshift guild hall. They were currently torn between trying to repair their old one or just focusing their efforts on Northrend. And Taknar wasn't speaking to Gore. He was under the impression that the former commander had ordered his rogue to take care of the matter and that made him trust Impervious less. He hadn't thought much of them at all until Murk and Renza'shi's story of Haa'aji being there before the guild hall blew up.

Everyone was bitter about their hall being destroyed. How many trophies from battles against the Alliance had been lost? How many plans for future attacks were now charred nothing?

Renza'shi knew what he was about to do wasn't going to make matters much better. Especially since he was friends with half of Impervious.

He took in a deep breath and walked forward into the room. And frowned. More of his guild was back than he'd been expecting. Honestly, he'd hoped to catch Taknar by himself, though he doubted that would ever really happen. His guild leader was always surrounded by some of the guild's strongest members.

Renza'shi walked through the groups of his guild mates, eyes straight ahead, barely nodding as people called out hellos. Taknar had been speaking with a few others, but when he saw Renza'shi heading his way, he dismissed the others, not that they went anywhere. However, they were content to hold off on their conversation.

Renza'shi stopped in front of them and Taknar nodded to him, saluting. "Lok'tar, friend."

After mirroring the salute, Renza'shi glanced around for the first time, seeing that most eyes had turned to him. He saw Murk near the back of the room with Lisp and instantly snapped his attention back to Taknar. "We be done searchin' fa spies, yeh?"

Taknar frowned, but nodded. "The warchief has told us to stand down." Even as Renza'shi nodded slowly, Taknar reached out and patted his shoulder firmly. "You don't need to worry over reprimands. Thrall understood why we followed Hellscream's request."

Renza'shi stared toward the ground for a long, quiet moment before finally holding out the letter in his hands. Even as Taknar furrowed his brow and took it, Renza'shi took in a deep breath. "Ah be sorreh ta say dat Ah be resignin' from Blood 'n Hona." He bowed his head quickly. "Ah wish ya blades stay sharp 'n ya enemies fall befora ya feet."

Before Taknar could gather himself enough to ask if Renza'shi could be serious, or Murk or Lisp could make it through the crowd to ask if he was crazy, the troll turned and walked out of the hall, his head held high.

Renza'shi would never be anyone's puppet like that again.

~"~

Leafless sat on the shore of the Scarlet Enclave, watching the waves sweep along the shore. The ocean had done its best to wash away the carnage that had happened years ago, when the death knights had marched upon the Scarlet Crusaders' homes and crushed their hopes. However, if one walked the beach, one could find fragments of bone, half buried in the sand, a testament to the horrors the minions of the Lich King were capable of.

Leafless had been one of his champions. She had cut down innocents, reveled in their suffering. She had forgotten her druidic origins and succumbed completely to the Lich King's will.

Most knights felt a sort of camaraderie that they had all suffered such a fate, losing themselves, becoming monsters. However, all one had to do was remember Shadow and acceptance that there was no choice disintegrated.

After dying to the Scourge, Leafless and Shadow hadn't seen much of one another, even as they worked for their master together. Somehow, it was like fate kept them apart. She hadn't seen his turmoil, so she often wondered if she might have turned out the way he did, had she been in his shoes. She doubted it.

Shadow, after all, hadn't needed the Light to free him from the Lich King. He had found his free will on his own, somehow. Even as the Scourge marched against Silvermoon, Shadow had attacked Bloodsworn and saved Liila from his clutches.

Then, as the legend among Leafless' fellow knights went, he'd gone back to Bloodsworn's lab and mercifully ended the lives of all of those trapped under the bastard's care. He'd released them from their pain quickly.

Some said he probably only actually freed the first of Bloodsworn's prisoners, but Leafless believed the whole of it. Especially after seeing him when he was brought back to Acherus.

With help, Bloodsworn had managed to subdue Shadow, and they had dragged him back to their base, presenting him to the Lich King with disgust and hopes that the tauren would be tortured. As Leafless had been passing by, on her way to slaughter innocents, she'd seen Shadow on his knees in front of their master, other knights holding him in place. She had stopped, wondering dully where she'd seen him before.

And then she'd seen him call forth his blade and destroy his captors. She'd been frozen, watching in awe as the creature she could only vaguely remember cut down knight after knight who came after him.

The Lich King had been in shock. But as soon as that shock wore off, he easily brought Shadow down.

But his defiant pet didn't care. Shadow laughed at Arthas, telling him that he'd better kill him, or he'd bring all of Acherus down, one way or another. He knew who he was, and he wouldn't be a tool of the Lich King.

More than a few death knights had born witness to those events. After Shadow had been dragged off—hung up on meat hooks for all to see that should they betray their master they would not be blessed with death—whispers had begun. People asked others if they remembered who they had been before their master. For the first time, voices started to echo their unsettling blanks. Minds began to pick at lost memories, and the Lich King's whispers in their heads began to grow desperate.

He was losing his champions.

The Light's warm touch was all they needed. It transformed, different to each person. A lover's touch, the heat from an anvil as one threw themselves into their work, the warm sun beating down on the plains of Mulgore. Remembering that there truly had been a life before all this carnage was all the knights needed, and they reached for it.

Some were bitter to have their memories, knowing that their families were dead—some by their own hand—but there was an unspoken truth among the knights as they rode back to Acherus to claim it as their stronghold: one cannot fight the Lich King's will; while they deserved blame, not all of it, at least, was due to them. Arthas was responsible for their actions more so than they were.

Blood had been one of the first to push through the ranks to the inner chambers. And he had found Shadow, still hung up on display. Leafless didn't know the details, but Blood had set Shadow free, and then Shadow had proceeded to tear an abomination apart with his bare hands. Blood still loved that story.

They had all fought together to take Acherus, but as the dust settled, gazes turned toward Shadow, not that any lingered. If they had honestly not been completely to blame for their actions, then how had that single tauren defied their master's will so completely? If they had tried, could they have reclaimed themselves before all the atrocities they'd committed?

Could Leafless have prevented herself from killing all those people? What bothered her, almost more than the knowledge that she had killed so many, was that she couldn't remember their faces. They hadn't been important, little more than bugs she was tasked with squishing.

Some of her brethren claimed that the faces of those they'd killed haunted them. How was it then, that her ghosts left her be? Really, the only thing that brought any measure of terror to her heart was that word might somehow get back to her family of what she'd become. That was why she, like Blood, had changed her name.

Well, until late that had been her only fear. Now, she wondered if Shadow could ever forgive her. She remembered her final moments before her death. They'd been running, side by side, fleeing the Scourge. And then a hook had caught her in the side and dragged her back. As she'd watched the world shift, she'd seen Shadow whirl around and start back toward her.

She'd wanted to yell at him to keep going, but her world had dimmed and vanished before she could muster the air to her lungs. Sometimes, when she allowed herself to daydream—a dangerous past time for any death knight, as their master still whispered to them, relentlessly—she found herself managing to scream for him to run, to leave her. It was the closest thing she had to real dreams, and it always made her wonder how they didn't play out the same every time. Surely it was her conscience creating the alterations, so...why wasn't she more in control?

In some dreams, Shadow did keep running. He made it home and lived his life, and Leafless hated him for abandoning her. In others, she was happy for him. In still others, he ignored her pleas for him to save himself and suffered the same fate as reality.

It drove her crazy.

Had he really only hung around because of a promise to her father?

The soft clink of metal behind her drew Leafless from her misery, and she scowled without turning around. "Blood, I told you. I'll come back when I feel like it. It's not like we're doing anything important right now, anyway."

"I'll agree to that."

Leafless froze. That wasn't Blood's voice. Jumping to her feet, she drew her blades as she whirled about to see who had come up behind her.

Derik Bloodsworn.

His weapon was sheathed, and he had an almost amiable expression on his face. Leafless had hardly dealt with Bloodsworn during their time working for the Lich King, but most everyone had a story of what a prick he was.

He held his hands in the air in surrender. "I'm sorry, really. I just meant that the Alliance isn't moving forward toward Northrend, yet, either." He took in a ragged sigh. "I just...I come down here, on the rare occasion that I'm near Acherus, to think." He dodged back a few steps as Leafless started toward him. "I was at the battle of Light's Hope Chapel, too, you know."

Leafless paused, her blades still ready to strike as she tried to remember if he had really been there. She remembered him taking down five guards at a time and then...he _had_ been stunned with the rest of them. She moved back a few paces, keeping enough distance between them that she could defend if he tried to talk. "I've never seen you at Acherus."

"Well, I've never seen you there. Does that mean you still work for the Lich King?" There was the slightest hint of resentment in his voice. He finally lowered his hands and walked past Leafless, pausing to kneel down and pull a skull from the sands. He handled it so gently, his brow knitting together with regret. "I generally stay in Stormwind, but...your little elven friend has friends in all sorts of places. She told those friends of my past deeds and consequentially took my home from me."

Leafless narrowed her eyes, though the other knight kept talking.

"I suppose I can't fault her. After all I've done, it would be ridiculous to imagine she could do anything other than hate me."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Leafless hissed. As Bloodsworn looked up, still holding the skull in his hands, she had to fight her disgust. "You led the assault on Orgrimmar."

Bloodsworn set the skull on the ground and rose back to his feet. "Did you see me there?"

Leafless had been ready to cast conversation aside, but she paused. This had to be a trick of some kind.

"You didn't. No one did, because I wasn't there," Bloodsworn spoke so softly. His voice was so...lonely. "I bet I know who started that rumor, though."

"She wasn't alone in fighting you."

Bloodsworn seemed confused for a moment and then paced to the side a few steps. Finally, he turned back to her. "I know...through the grape vine, that you are friends with the little elf, so surely you must know she is not well." He grimaced. "I made sure she never would be." 

Leafless found herself lowering her weapons, despite herself. His face...it was true remorse, if ever she'd seen it.

He seemed reassured by her actions. "Let me present you with what I think happened. If you disagree that it could be possible, then I will leave you be. If not...you look like you could use a friend as much as I could."

"Speak quickly." Leafless didn't like how earnest he seemed. This wasn't at all the Bloodsworn that she'd heard of. But then, she hadn't really heard about him since the battle at the chapel. There were probably all sorts of horror stories about her floating around, should she ever choose to seek them.

"Under Arthas' will, I spent months torturing that little elf. I do not deny that, for it is the truth of my sins. However, she is damaged. I did that, too." He hesitated. "Perhaps a human death knight did lead the attack against Orgrimmar. Maybe when she saw him, she saw me." He paused again, looking pleadingly at Leafless. "I mean, was there anyone else who could confirm the death knight's name?"

Leafless frowned. There hadn't been anyone else. It had been Liila alone, ranting and hissing to Gore and Gregor about how even after all this time the bastard wouldn't leave her be. They hadn't realized that Leafless and Blood had been nearby when she'd been seething, and as soon as Gobber wandered into the room, Liila's face had blanked, and her rants had ceased.

And Mitchell had said that she'd attacked him once, thinking that he was her torturer. It had been a brief moment of insanity, but...everyone knew she wasn't stable. When they'd first joined the Horde, the death knights, Liila had been skittish at best. Until she'd seen Shadow.

After that, Liila had pretty much dragged him into the guild, and he had insisted that he wouldn't join without Blood and Leafless.

Leafless eyed the man in front of her. Part of her told her that she ought to just skewer him while she could, that there was no way that he could be telling the truth. However, another part of her whispered how he was in the same position she was. He had no home to go to. He was alone. And there was someone who blamed him for his actions, even though if he had been himself, he never would have done such things.

He hadn't wanted to hurt Liila, just like she hadn't wanted to hurt Shadow.

"I'm her monster," he whispered. Leafless blinked as she realized that Bloodsworn had walked up to stand in front of her. "She can't help but see me for the villain that I was. And I doubt there's anything I can do to earn her forgiveness."

"What do you want?" Leafless took a step away from him, staring down at him with a mixture of distrust and sympathy. "Pity?"

"I don't know," Bloodsworn shook his head slowly. "Maybe...I just want someone to believe that I'm _not_ a monster." His eyes were downcast. "Maybe then I'd be able to believe those words the Light preaches. That I'm not beyond saving. That none of us are."

Leafless inspected him carefully before finally shrugging. "Once the Lich King is dead." As he tilted his head, not understanding, she sighed. "I think once he's gone for good, we'll be able to find our salvation."

Bloodsworn nodded slowly. However, before he could speak, Leafless took a few steps away from him. She still didn't trust him. "I'm going back to Acherus. Are you...?"

"I think I'd like to watch the surf a bit longer." Bloodsworn offered her a tired smile and nodded as she headed up the beach, back toward the Ebonhold. He waited until Leafless was almost back to the teleportation device before turning his gaze out to sea and allowing a wicked grin to creep across his features.


	27. Unexpected

While his guild knew him as Lash Hellsblood, the truth of the matter was that that wasn't actually his last name. As with orcish traditions, last names were not shared based on family, but rather they were earned through proving oneself in battle or through other equally honorable means. If one's ancestor did something great enough, after their passing, a child might take on their parent's last name to honor the memory—such as what Garrosh Hellscream had done—but there were never really any two orcs with the same last name at any given time.

Well, that had been the way of things. The orcs of the Horde had begun to allow their culture to intermingle with that of the trolls and tauren, and there were a few families who had taken to giving their children their last names.

Lash was not in such a family.

Really, the only reason that anyone thought his last name to be Hellsblood was because of a misunderstanding when Haa'aji had first met Gore's family. Haa'aji hadn't understood orcish culture and had assumed that the surname was shared.

Lash wanted to make a name for himself. Literally. But it was harder than one might think. He would need proof of his actions to secure a name, and that meant he couldn't use any of his raiding achievements. Well, not without trying to claim he was in Anonymous, and he doubted that would go over well.

Many people simply saw him as Gorgon Hellsblood's nephew. Not a brave hunter who had traversed the reaches of Kalimdor and beyond, aiding the different establishments of the Horde. By the ancestors, even his guild viewed him as a child to a certain extent. While they were happy to have him along for raids, they always teased him as they did Mitchell or Ta'lim. It was like the trio couldn't catch a break. As though everyone's predisposition was to coddle them.

Lash had defeated his fair share of enemies, but none of that mattered. He wanted people to salute him with respect, nod at him when he passed on the streets in appreciation of the good that he'd done.

That was the real reason he hadn't tried to win anyone’s heart yet. While yes, it did seem moronic at best to start a family with the Lich King bearing down on them from the north, he wanted whoever he might take to his bed to see him as strong and capable, not just some peon who promised to keep food on the table.

He had been too ashamed to speak with Gore or Sham about it, and when he'd tried to bring it up to Mitchell and Ta'lim, the culture gap had become obvious, as neither quite seemed to get what he was saying. Then again, Mitchell had been rather preoccupied with returning to Undercity to work on some new project that he had whispered would make Margaret happy, and Ta'lim had had deliveries to run.

That's when it had hit Lash. He was alone. The reason that neither Mitchell nor Ta'lim seemed overly bothered by the way everyone treated them like children was because they knew they weren't. Mitchell was an official apothecary, and Ta'lim was a courier. They had jobs—albeit not as glamorous as being a war hero—and they were content.

When Gore had asked Lash to give he and his wife some time to themselves, Lash had abruptly been struck with the notion that he was in the way. And that had led to horror. He really was a child, still.

The more that thought ate at him, the less content he was to stay a guest at Liila's house, even with Ta'lim there. And so he'd taken Duskeh with him back to Gore's place, gathered his things, and headed toward the message boards to see where he might win honor.

The most obvious would be to assault an Alliance post that was too close to Horde territory, but then, the guild frowned on that. Not the guild, really. Gregor. Most of the members of Impervious stayed their blades when they saw the other faction only because Gregor had been so adamant that they not harm anyone. The unspoken truth was that Gregor had heard rumors that both his daughter and son had taken to the field of battle for the Alliance, and as much as he loved his guild mates, he would have to kill anyone who harmed—much less killed—one of his children.

If anything ever happened to Gregor, Lash didn't doubt that Impervious would become a war guild.

However, so long as Gregor walked the earth, battling on the warfronts was out, unless Lash wanted to find himself a new guild. And with the recent whispers that Gore hadn't done his job as a defender of Orgrimmar in light of the ghoul attack, Lash couldn't very well leave the guild without marring his uncle's reputation further.

Lash hadn't seen anything particularly worthwhile on the message boards—in fact, even the warfronts were somewhat quiet as both factions prepared their assaults on Northrend—and so he'd wandered the town, thinking that perhaps he'd see one of Haa'aji's shady connections and hit them up for any tasks that might need to be accomplished.

It wasn't until he found himself in front of the smithy that Lash realized he was wandering aimlessly. It was right about then that Lash saw Howl, speaking and laughing with his former apprentices. Another guild mate who had a firm and respected place in society…

Before his feet could take him elsewhere, Howl noticed him and waved him over.

Lash obediently wandered to them and listened in on the conversation, smiling and laughing at the appropriate moments, but thinking all the while that he was out of place. After all, all of the orcs present had names of their own.

When Howl excused himself from the conversation to tend to a few tasks he needed to take care of, Lash accompanied him almost mindlessly, and a small part of him whispered that he was indeed _meant_ to be a peon. The two orcs walked along in silence for a good way before Howl finally appraised the dejected looking hunter.

"Going somewhere?"

Lash blinked. And looked down to see that he was in his armor, and both his mount and Duskeh were still plodding along beside him, stopping every now and then to eye a random hawkstrider as the few sin'dorei in Orgrimmar rode along on errands of their own. He finally shrugged. "Was thinking of it."

Howl eyed him for a second, and Lash could see the gears turning carefully in his head. At length, he smiled. "If you don't have anywhere particular in mind, I don't suppose you'd be interested in going to Rachet for me?"

Lash raised an eyebrow.

"I have a message I would like delivered…sooner than later." He paused, glancing around as though he knew something that he couldn't disclose. "There's rumors that something's about to happen here, and I'd like to stay in town for it, but that means that my personal affairs have to be pushed back."

Narrowing his eyes, Lash stopped in his tracks. As Howl slowed to stop a few feet ahead and turned to face him, Lash crossed his arms. "You want me to take a personal message down to Rachet? What is it?"

Howl gave him a half smile, his grin laced with boyish enthusiasm. "It's better that you don't know the details, but to answer your first question, yes." He'd glanced around as though to make sure the shadows weren't eavesdropping. "Now, I'd be willing to part with some coin if you'll deliver it—that is if you don't have anything else to do." As Lash considered it, Howl's smile slipped, and he'd added. "But you can't tell anyone about this. Not Gore, not Sham, not Ta'lim. No one. Honestly, if you go, just tell people you went to Ashenvale or something."

For a moment, Lash was ready to tell him that it sounded a bit too sketchy for his liking, like it was something more geared toward Haa'aji's skill set. However, there was an earnest, hopeful light in Howl's face…as though by merely mentioning the letter at all, he'd pulled Lash into his confidence. Lash finally shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. "I'll deliver it for you."

Howl almost immediately tried to make himself look professional, though that giddy light still glinted in his eyes. He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a thin envelope. It was blank, and Lash paused, frowning as he wondered who—other than their guild—might receive such a thing.

Taking out his coin purse, Howl pulled three gold coins out and offered them to Lash. When the hunter tried to deny the money, Howl shook his head, his half grin returning. "I'll pay you when you get back. This is for a Miss Kezzel Lockspring. Just give her the envelope and the money, and she'll know what to do."

~"~

Shortly after Lash had hit the road, he'd gotten a private message from Sham that their guild stones had possibly been tampered with. Lash had to wonder if that had been what Howl had been talking about that he'd wanted to stay in town for. How had he known it would be coming?

How did Howl ever know what was going on? He was no rogue, but he was better at gathering information than half the Shattered Hand in Orgrimmar. As Lash traveled along, racing across the plains with the wind rippling his worg's fur and making his cloak billow behind him, he had to wonder if whatever he was delivering held some sort of significance to what was going on.

While he could have taken a windrider and gotten to Rachet in two days, Lash had opted to ride. He wanted Duskeh and his mount, should he come across something worth pursuing in Rachet. And Howl hadn't said that it was urgent, just that he didn't have time to do it himself.

Lash had also wanted time alone. Time to think about what he could do to make a name for himself. To give himself time to think, he'd opted for going across the plains, rather than taking the roads.

That was why he was all the more startled to hear the thuds of a kodo's large feet growing nearer, and someone calling to him as he set up camp on his second night heading south.

It had been Embry Sandsliver, from Blood and Honor. While most of his guild members disliked her, thinking her arrogant, Lash had never minded her company. She was, after all, an accomplished warrior.

The tauren trotted up, a smile in place while she waved, stopping just inside the ring of light his campfire cast across the darkened plains. Lash had to wonder what the odds were that they'd run into one another in the middle of the Barrens.

"Hey! Gorelash, right?"

Lash nodded quickly, slightly surprised that she knew his name. While, yes, he'd met her a few times, it had always been in a group, and introductions had always been loose and fast. Sure, he took the time to memorize every name offered to him, but most were not like that, which he understood. Most simply remembered those who were worthwhile, and it had always left him more than a little dejected when someone he held in high regard would meet him on the road and say something like, "Hey! You're…you're that orc in Impervious, right? Ta'lim's friend?" Or Haa'aji's or Liila's or Margaret's… He was always remembered as someone else's friend. He never stood out enough to be his own person.

Lash frowned as the thought took hold, and he realized that was exactly what he was trying to remedy.

Embry watched him before motioning to his fire. "I don't want to come off as lazy, but would you mind if I camped here tonight? I'd make camp myself, but I'm already pretty beat."

Lash quickly motioned toward the fire, nodding for her to take a seat. Once she had, setting her two-handed axe lovingly onto the dusty ground beside her, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. Lash watched her, wondering if tauren earned their names the same way that orcs did.

"Watcha thinking?"

He blinked, embarrassed to have been caught staring. At length, he shrugged. "I was just wondering how the warfronts are going, I suppose."

Embry broke out into an even wider grin. "They're going great. From what I hear, in two months, Southshore will be ours." Lash murmured that that was always good—really he was considering how Margaret and a few others would miss their Southshore picnics, where they settled down for a nice meal right at the edge of the town's sprawling cemetery and antagonized the humans by staring them down and making hand motions implying they were debating attacking. Embry shrugged. "Honestly though, I think Ashenvale is gonna be big in the next few months."

"Oh?"

"Well," Embry leaned toward him, as though wishing to entrust him with something important. "Don't tell anyone, but there's talk about taking more of the forest. So that we can expand Orgrimmar. And reinforce it."

Lash winced at the notion, but nodded. Better defenses would help, should the Lich King attack again. Embry had noticed his reaction to her words, and she smiled sympathetically. "It must be hard, knowing that one of the few times your guild goes out to do anything, such a terrible attack could happen."

Part of Lash felt indignant in the way she'd said it. Another part saw the truth in her words. He paused abruptly. It was almost as though the Scourge had waited for Impervious to be away. Surely, that had just been coincidence, though. He considered what Sham had said about their guild stones. Maybe the problem wasn't the Alliance, but an entirely different enemy. He'd known a few cultists from the Twilight Hammer had tried to infiltrate Impervious shortly before they'd taken on C'thun. After all, if their enemies could strike at them first…or show that they knew who they were, it would weaken them and keep them from defending their world against its threats.

Did the Lich King know that Impervious was Anonymous?

Embry misinterpreted his silence. "I know it's not my place to ask, and feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but where were you guys? When the Scourge attacked?"

Lash blinked, taken out of his worries. "What?"

"You don't have to tell me. If it's guild business, then I don't expect you to break that confidence." She shrugged. "I was just wondering what you guys do, since I know you're not big on the warfronts."

Lash paused, unsure what to say. Normally, this was the point where Haa'aji or Liila or someone would take the reins and explain some story about investigating a growing threat. Once, they'd even been honest and said that they went to the Molten Core to see if Ragnaros were back. The people inquiring had laughed that off and told them to keep their secrets.

However, this wasn't friendly banter. As much as Embry smiled and threw enthusiasm into her voice, Lash could see a calculating look in her eyes. He made a point not to focus on it. She was fishing for something.

Lash shrugged finally. "We went to Quel'Danas. We cleared the Magister's Terrace." It was true.

"Really," Embry shifted her weight, clearly surprised by his response. Genuine interest crept into her expression for a fleeting moment.

"Yeah," Lash shrugged and laughed half-heartedly. His disappointment was in his audience, not the story he was telling her. He wasn't sure why, but he had the feeling that their chance meeting was anything but. Had she followed him from Orgrimmar? Why? "We had half a mind to save the Sunwell, but, well, I think you know who got there first."

"Anonymous."

Lash nodded.

Embry leaned toward him, the fire casting odd shadows across her face. "So then, did you meet them? Anonymous?"

"Probably," Lash shrugged as Duskeh yawned and curled up beside him, obviously uninterested in the conversation. As the cat blinked lazily at Embry, Lash patted its head. "I mean, there were a lot of adventurers there."

Though Embry tried to ask a few more questions about Anonymous, Lash merely steered the conversation toward how he thought it was interesting that the sin'dorei and draenei had worked so well together. Embry quickly lost interest in Quel'Danas. However, their talk continued into the night, brushing over the different warfronts. Embry was quick to tell stories about how Blood and Honor had captured key locations for the Horde, and Lash listened carefully, though he had a hard time keeping up with her enthusiasm.

He'd always looked up to this tauren—to everyone in Blood and Honor, really—but now she was treating him like some idiot who could be tricked into spilling secrets that she probably assumed he didn't even realize he was keeping. Well, if she intended to, she was going to walk away thinking that Lash was little more than a glorified peon. While he didn't know her game and doubted he could win, he could at least make sure that she didn't either. He'd make sure that she thought all he did was show up when and where Gore and the others told him to.

While it was counter-productive to his long term goals, he figured that protecting the guild ought to come before his pride.

It bothered him, however. Why had he been chosen? Because he was out of town? Or was it because she thought he was the weakest of Impervious?

Finally, during a lull in the conversation, he had to ask. "What brings you out here? There aren't any battles going on nearby, are there?"

Embry had just unfurled her bedroll and was settling down on it. As she looked across the fire at him, the light made her eyes gleam red, reflecting the embers dancing toward the sky. "Supposedly, there's some courier out here with a correspondence from someone in Orgrimmar to the Alliance. I'm trying to find them." She paused as Lash's mind snapped toward the unmarked letter he was carrying. It couldn't be…could it? "What about you?"

Lash frowned and leaned into Duskeh. "Just trying to make a name for myself."

"Really?"

"Really."

Embry didn't sit up, her whole body was still, and her eyes never left his face. "So then, why are you carrying an unmarked envelope to Rachet?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Lash's mind raced for a moment before he remembered something Haa'aji had told him once. _If you're ever caught in a lie, support it with as much truth as you can._

He'd always thought that was a bunch of nonsense, but now…. He tried to think of some truth about Rachet that he could tell. And then it hit him. He let out a heavy sigh and abruptly leaned toward the fire. "Embry, what I'm about to tell you…" he hesitated. "Technically, it's there for anyone to see, but most people don't pay attention." Embry's eyes were on his face, waiting to catch him in another lie. "Three members of our guild are part of the Steamwheedle Cartel."

She blinked, surprised.

Lash shrugged, running his fingers down the back of his neck, hoping he would look self-conscious. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone…well, bring attention to it, really. But…we're both loyal to the Horde, so I don't see any harm." He let his hand fall into his lap. "The three goblins in our guild could get into a lot of trouble with their Cartel…and the Alliance, if either caught wind of their dealings with us." He frowned. "And it's not like they're betraying their people. They just want to fight for a better world, too."

Embry settled back onto her bed roll. Her smile was gone, replaced with a look of contemplation. "Did you ever consider they might be playing you?"

"Well, I don't really worry about that stuff," Lash shrugged. "Besides, we aren't a war guild, so it's not like we're giving them battle plans. And really, we just summon them to places for fights, like the Magister's Terrace, and then Sprocket—he's a goblin mage—ports them home, and we don't see them until the next guild get together." He was careful not to use the word raid. He didn't want to make it seem like they might be doing anything more than clearing a few dungeons.

For a moment, he thought he saw a look of bitter disappointment cross Embry's features in the dim light, and he had to fight back a grin. However, even as he went to douse the campfire, Embry rose to her feet, rolling up her bedroll. She sighed as he looked at her questioningly. "Look, please don't think poorly of me, but I need to find that courier."

Lash straightened his back, indignant. "You thought it was me."

"I…didn't want it to be you, but…" she paused, suddenly looking so distant and disgusted. "Lately I've been coming to find that a lot of people I thought were good don't have their hearts in the right places." She finished packing her things and swung her axe onto her back, brushing a bit of dirt from her pants as she went toward her kodo. She paused after she'd swung up onto the creature's back. "Please, don't take it personally. I really do think you're a good orc."

Lash had to fight the urge to pack his things and pick up his journey as soon as he couldn't hear her mount any more, just to speed up the delivery of the mysterious letter that may or may not have been what Embry was looking for. He didn't trust that she'd really left him unwatched, however. Blood and Honor had warlocks and rogues and mages aplenty. She could have easily come with back up and have left someone watching him. By the nether, what was that mind vision thing that Tizzle and Liila were always doing to each other?

~"~

Lash had to struggle not to push his worg to travel faster over the next two days. He didn't want anyone who might be watching to become overly interested in his affairs—even though he'd kept an eye out for anyone following him in stealth, he felt like the letter was burning a hole in his pocket, drawing suspicious gazes from any of the scarce few who happened to cross his path, even when most hadn't a clue it existed. His mind raced, constantly going back to what Embry had said.

A letter to the Alliance.

He wanted to look in the envelope he was carrying, but he worried that anyone who might be watching would see his doubt. He cursed himself, realizing that Embry had played him better than he'd thought. After all, if not for her, he wouldn't be doubting Howl, would he?

But then…if Howl did have informants in the Alliance, that might explain how he got some of his information.

Or maybe this Miss Lockspring was his informant. There was no reason to assume the worst from Howl. After all, he hadn't looked the traitor when he'd given Lash the note. And he had said it was a personal matter.

Lash glanced down toward the pocket inside his leather vest. That couldn't have been a cover up, could it…?

Finally, he couldn't take it. Even with Rachet in sight, Lash took his worg down to the beach and came to rest, allowing the giant wolf to play in the surf while Duskeh looked on with disdain for the water. He sat beside his cat, gave the plains an inconspicuous once over to see if anyone were nearby—including inspecting for any signs of any stealthed individuals—and then took in a deep breath and opened the envelope.

Inside was another, smaller one. With an Alliance address on it in common.

Lash felt his heart sink. Howl was a traitor? This couldn't be happening. Was that why he hadn't wanted him reading the note? Because he didn't want to incriminate Lash? Or just because he didn't want Lash to turn him in?

He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but Lash flipped over the envelope and broke the seal, pausing when he noticed that the seal looked…pretty. It didn't look like the sort of insignia an orc would use to close important documents.

Lash opened the letter solemnly and took care as he read over the contents. While he could speak common fairly well, reading it was another story. It didn't help that Howl didn't seem much better with writing common than Lash was at reading it. However, as he focused on one word at a time, he slowly pieced together what the letter was saying.

And his cheeks flushed.

Folding the paper quickly, he put it back in its envelope. There were no battle plans or plots against the Horde in it.

It was a love letter.

Howl had used Lash as a liaison to his lover in the Alliance.

Lash walked the rest of the way to Rachet, trying desperately to forget what he'd read. Howl was in love with someone from the opposite faction? A Veena Lightsway? He'd always seemed like such a sensible orc.

He didn't even realize he'd asked for directions to Miss Lockspring's office until he was standing in front of her desk. Ledgers and piles of papers tilted in dangerous mounds across the worn wood, though the goblin didn't seem worried that her organized chaos might collapse on her. Instead, after ushering Lash into her office, she hopped into the chair behind her desk and propped her feet up, ignoring as a few stacks of documents teetered.

"What can I do for ya, orc? Trade treatise? Ya need connections ta the high bidders on the other side?" She paused to tap a paper with the Alliance symbol on it.

Lash blinked out of his daze and then fumbled into his pocket. Once he'd produced the paper, Miss Lockspring dropped her feet and scooted forward in her chair, taking out a pair of glasses to read the letter. She sighed when she saw the address. "Mister Bonecrusher's already got a response for Miss Lightsway, has he?"

Lash didn't respond. How long had this been going on? No, he didn't want to know.

The goblin paused as she flipped the envelope over and saw the broken seal. Her gaze flitted up to inspect Lash. "Ya read this?"

"I…" Lash didn't know what to say, shame suddenly welling inside of him again. How could he have betrayed Howl's trust? Just because Embry had claimed that there was some sort of traitor couriering secrets? His voice failing him, Lash merely nodded.

Miss Lockspring leaned onto her elbows, her chin propped up in her hands. "Do me a favor, yeah? Tell Mister Bonecrusher that if he's gonna court a lady, he really needs ta come up with better stuff than…" she paused and flipped open the letter, skimming it quickly. "Better than 'ya eyes gleam like fresh smelted metal'." Her lips dipped into a frown. "No girl wants ta hear that, trust me. Tell him ta talk about stars or the ocean or flowers. I know ya orcs aren't exactly lover boys, but that doesn't mean ya can't try…."

It took a rather pointed stare from the little goblin before Lash remembered the gold fee and offered the money to Miss Lockspring. She gleefully took the coins from him. "Or talk about money. Though, I suppose those draenei women don't care about that so much."

Miss Lockspring laced her fingers and stretched them out in front of her, cracking her knuckles all at once. Then, she pulled a fresh piece of paper out from the middle of one of her piles and produced a quill from the ancestors knew where. Lash watched her lay Howl's letter out on the table and read it over again, more carefully, before starting to rewrite the common onto her new paper.

"What are you doing?"

"Givin' ya friend a chance," Miss Lockspring wrote with beautiful, flourishing handwriting. "No Alliance girl's gonna be able to read his chicken scratch…hell, I'm amazed _I_ can read it." She looked up at him and shrugged. "So…ya need anythin' else, or are we square?"

~"~

"I can't believe…I don't normally do this," Wren murmured, his blonde hair tussled and falling crazily over his bare shoulders. He heard a soft laugh from beside him. Fingers trailed up his arm and brushed back his hair before lips feathered against his skin. He turned his head to see Zeresa was watching him with gentle laughter in her eyes.

"You said that before," She nuzzled his hair and then nipped at his earlobe playfully. "About…seven times before, unless I forgot one."

Wren brought his knees up and leaned his head into his hands, his elbows pressed against his legs. "I can't believe I did this…I'm married."

"And getting divorced," Zeresa answered, leaning against his back and tracing small circles over his skin with her forefinger. "Your brother stole her from you your wedding night, and they've been having an affair for years. Finally, now that your brother's wife has fallen, _your_ wife is divorcing _you_ to marry _him_."

Wren frowned, realizing that he'd been a bit more talkative the night before than he could remember. He ran his hand against the back of his neck as he straightened up—slowly so as not to jar Zeresa—and looked at her. "I wanted to separate first, but my family said it would disgrace the name…" He felt bile in his throat. Like all the other nonsense they did hadn't already disgraced them.

Zeresa stroked his arm gently. "You shouldn't feel trapped like that. You're going to be free of that witch soon, though…in fact, you already are in all ways save for a few documents that need to be signed, right?"

"But I'm still not a free elf yet," Wren murmured. He'd always prided himself that he had never stolen another elf’s partner or had an affair of any sort. Now though…he felt as though he were tumbling down a steep slope, with himself looking surprisingly like Adrias waiting for him at the bottom.

Zeresa seemed to read his mind. "You are a good elf, Wren Duskflame."

He paused and appraised her, skepticism plain on his features.

"I know," she nodded, straightening up and holding the bed sheets over her chest in a surprisingly modest act—after last night, he'd have guessed her to be anything but. "I know because bad people don't worry that they've done something wrong."

As he sat there, looking down at the petite mage beside him, he couldn't help but smile back at her as he leaned forward and cupped one of her cheeks. He kissed her gently and then leaned his forehead against hers. "What miracle brought you to me, hmm?"

Zeresa lifted her arms, dropping the bed sheets, and draped them over his shoulders, her fingers twisting into his hair. "Who says it was a miracle?"

For a moment, part of him wanted to tell her that he couldn't stay. After a night of drinking, they'd finally decided to get a room upstairs, and one thing had led to another until…this. That part of him whispered that he needed to go home and face whatever awaited him or to find out what the guild would be up to next, but more than anything, he wanted to forget all that. To forget his miserable family and the way that Liila had been so callous in her inconsideration of the work that had gone into helping her.

He wanted to forget, and here, in his arms, was by far the most perfect distraction he'd ever found.

With a wide grin settling on his face, he wrapped his arms around Zeresa and pulled her to him again, back down into the tangled bed sheets.

~"~

Enlyhn walked into Whisper's Vials and stopped short when he saw Liila standing behind the counter, quietly running a rag across the surface. He'd known that Sham was still trying to learn the prices of everything and had been counting on finding her here, though in truth, that had just been a roundabout way to get to Liila.

He frowned when he realized that, while this was a more efficient use of his time, it would be far less enjoyable then pestering his guild leader's wife into calling in any favors she could to have the little elf freed so that he could talk to her. Of course, that wouldn't have been the reason he'd have given for her release. Instead, he probably would have courted the idea that after being tortured for so long by the Scourge, she probably wasn't doing well mentally down in a dungeon.

Alas, it looked as though Sham had escaped guilt trips for the day.

As Liila looked up, he grunted and then walked over to her, leaning against the other side of the counter as though he were a paying customer. That would be the day.

"Good to see you out and free again, though I have to wonder how that happened," he nodded to her. The night before, after a few more words had been tossed back and forth between Timmons and the little elf, things had escalated rather quickly, and it had seemed like the whole valley in front of Grommash Hold had been drawn into Liila's supposed 'shadow realm'. He had to say, the few elves who had been taking a late night stroll and stumbled upon the scene had seemed less intimidated and more impressed by the show than anything else.

Perhaps flashing a bit of magical prowess was all she'd needed to earn their trust.

The leaders of the Horde had not been pleased to hear warnings from the grunts that something was amiss, however, and they had come out from their deliberations to put a stop to whatever madness was about to ensue.

Sylvanas had been the one to end the duel, with an arrow through Liila's neck. While Thrall had had choice words for the banshee queen, she had merely offered that Liila would be back up in no time and that someone ought to get the arrow out of her before she resurrected and died again…since that hardly seemed humane.

With Liila's condition known to the leaders of the Horde, her death hadn't meant as much as it might have, and as soon as she was on her feet again, she'd been escorted off to the dungeons with Timmons.

"Garrosh pulled a few strings for me."

Enlyhn blinked slowly. Once. Twice. "I'm sorry, _who_ helped you out of the dungeon?"

"Lash and I helped him in Nagrand some time ago. He owed me." She shrugged. "Now we're even, though, so I don't expect him to do anything more for me, if you were hoping for a favor as well."

Looking through the glass without caring particularly about any of the vials on display, his lips dipped down near his tusks into a pronounced frown. "I may be asking for a favor in a moment, though it won't be from him."

Liila's hand stilled, and she cocked her head. "What kind of favor?"

"Close the shop for a few minutes, and let's head downstairs." As the small elf eyed him, he gave her a mischievous grin. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself."

Though she was hesitant, the day had been rather slow in the ways of customers, so Liila obliged, figuring that anyone who came by would figure her to be out to lunch or something of the like and would check back in later.

Once the doors were locked, they headed down into the guild hall. Enlyhn didn't speak another word until they entered and found it empty. He gave the room an approving nod and then cracked his shoulders one at a time. Motioning toward a chair, he hopped up onto the table, crossing his legs beneath him, pausing to frown once when his heel caught on his robe.

"Now then, I'd like to talk to you about what's happened to Gregor and Timmons."

Liila settled down into a chair near him, her expression unreadable. "And this ties into some favor?"

"I'll get there," Enlyhn replied, drumming his fingers against his knees. He looked over the little elf and then smiled. "So you know how it happened, right?"

"Haa'aji sent me a message, but it was probably a cover up rather than what actually happened. Mitchell was saying something about an experiment…?"

"He was," Enlyhn nodded. "Mitchell made this…concoction, you see. I talked to him a little last night, while you were locked away, and he says that he tried a different approach than most do. While, yes, he's trying to cure the physical effects, to do so, he made the potion so that it reacts with already existing magic." He felt a small triumph in his chest as he noticed Liila's ear twitch slightly. "Mitchell assumes that his little potion is reacting to whatever magical aspects of the plague may have risen our guild mates to begin with."

Liila sat perfectly still, barely breathing.

"Explain something to me, Liila." Enlyhn leaned toward Liila, serious. "I saw the death runes light up on Gregor when the 'cure' took its effect. It was mostly covered by his shirt, and he was convulsing, so I don't think even Haa'aji noticed it as well, but I did. Mitchell's cure isn't curing the plague, is it? It's enhancing the effects of those resurrection death runes."

Liila met his gaze, her expression completely blank. "I see. Have you told Mitchell so that he can adjust his experiments?"

With a scoff, Enlyhn shook his head. "What makes you think I care about that?" As Liila finally narrowed her eyes, Enlyhn motioned to her. "You think I can't figure out who put those runes there?"

"A death knight?"

"You." He shook his head, grinning. "You always say you don't know what the different runes do, but that's a lie, isn't it? You know what each and every one does. What I want to know is how many people you've carved up with them."

Liila didn't move, her hands clasped in her lap and her posture nigh perfect. At length, she broke their staring contest, looking down. "He takes everything from me. I didn't want him to be able to take them, too."

Enlyhn frowned.

"If I'd done the runes on Piikii or Piikiitwo then they would still be with me—"

"Did you put them on me?"

Somehow managing to sit even straighter, Liila shook her head. "No. By the time I reached Kalimdor, I was…better. Not so afraid of losing the people who matter to me."

"If word gets out that you know the runes to bring back the dead, you may end up a fairly busy lady, with all the carving and teaching you'll be forced to do…after all, if you're loyal to the Horde, you'd want to make sure our warriors have every advantage possible, right?"

"You think this curse is an advantage?"

Enlyhn scowled. "I know it is." He pointed his index finger at her. "I'll keep your secret about what you've done to those two…and hell, probably Haa'aji and a few others, but you have to help me."

Liila's gaze flickered black for an instant, the only betrayal that she was upset by the proposition. When she spoke, her voice was as calm as ever. "With?"

Slumping his shoulder forward and pulling his robe down to expose his skin, Enlyhn grinned. "Mark me up, sister."


	28. Complications

Lash had a bad feeling.

He'd never been one of those with an intuition for ill tidings or anything of the like, but something about the Alliance fools in Rachet's inn last night just didn't sit well with him. They'd given him dirty looks, for sure, but then such things were to be expected. After all, not everyone could get along as well as Impervious and their Alliance counterpart—truthfully half of the members of both guilds would probably be killing one another if not for the steadfast leadership keeping them in check.

However, last night…

There had been _so_ many of them in Rachet.

Though he'd tried to tell himself that—as he didn't spend much time in the neutral territories—he wouldn't know that it was unusual per se, it just…

Duskeh let out a soft hiss beside him, and he slowed his mount so that he could reach out and pat the huge cat on its head. The creature pressed into his palm affectionately, purring. For a moment, Lash felt like he could forget his worries. After all, animals had far better senses than he.

He'd barely returned his gaze to the road to the Crossroads—he'd figured he'd take the longer route to go home, so that he would have time to think over Howl's infatuation with that draenei and whether he should say something to Gore about it—when Duskeh had abruptly hunched low to the ground, hissing. The cat's ears were perked up and even as it hissed again and looked pleadingly to Lash for directions, his worg growled.

Perhaps his instincts were not as dull as he'd imagined. Though…the goblins had said that the Alliance had gone south, and he was heading northwest until he could hit up the main road through the Barrens.

Giving his pet the go ahead, he followed at a distance, leaving his worg just off the road. The wolf seemed loathe to wait, but it was obedient.

As he drew nearer to Duskeh's target, he could finally hear the sounds of combat. Picking up his pace, crept close to the ground, not wanting to be drawn into whatever the fray was before he was ready.

Coming up over a small rise to see into a long dried out gulley, he jerked his bow from his back.

There, in the ditch, a single orcess stood, her armor cracked and broken, surrounded by six Alliance. She grasped a two-handed blade in front of her, her gaze constantly moving as she waited for one of her attackers to make their move.

A male dwarf and female human behind her began toward her at once. The dwarf stumbled on a stone—he had blood running down his face already and looked like his nose was broken—and the orcess whirled toward the sound, swinging her blade too soon so that he was able to stumble back.

The rest of her adversaries took advantage of her recovery.

Without thinking, Lash bellowed an order to Duskeh. In that moment, he didn’t think of Gore's stern warnings that faction conflict would not be tolerated within their guild. He didn't think of the way Gregor always paled when he saw human heads being flaunted in outposts, the way he looked at them as though trying to see if he could recognize them through the grizzled twists that death had inflicted upon their visages.

He notched an arrow and let it fly into the back of the head of the nearest mongrel before she could even turn around to see who had come up behind them. Her body wasn't even to the ground as he let his next fly. It caught a human man—a paladin from the looks of it—in the neck, and he spun to the ground.

Duskeh had tackled a third to the ground. The draenei screamed as the saber cat tore into him, clawing and biting.

Even as Lash notched a third arrow and refocused his attention on the orcess to see if she was being overwhelmed, he relaxed his shoulders a little. She'd taken out both of her original attackers. All that remained was a single, frail looking human mage. The man stumbled back a step, eyes darting from the warrior to Lash to his cat—he realized Duskeh was enjoying himself a bit too much on the well dead draenei and called his pet to him—to his comrades and back. He clutched his staff and staggered back another step.

Lash held his bow, string drawn and ready to end the human. With a cough to clear his throat, he addressed the creature. "What brings you—"

The man's scream cut through Lash's question, much as the orcess' blade cut through the human's shoulder. As the last of the Alliance crumpled to the ground in a pool of his own blood, the warrior whirled on Lash, fury in her eyes as she stomped toward him—well, tried to. Her leg had been injured, and she stopped short, realizing that her limp was hardly intimidating.

"Kill stealer!"

Lash's jaw dropped along with his weapon. He fish-mouthed for a moment before finally standing up straighter, brow knitting together. "I saved you."

"I had it handled," the orcess snapped, shoving her sword into the ground next to her and then spitting on the nearest corpse.

With a grunt, Lash shook his head. He slipped his arrow back into his quiver and slung his bow over his shoulder. "Sorry, then. You looked like you could use a bit of help." The two of them stood there, silently glaring at one another for a few more minutes before Lash finally shrugged. "Lok'tar Ogar."

Turning his back to her, he patted his leg for Duskeh to follow him. Though his cat did glance over its shoulder, curious, it followed him. His worg was definitely nearer than he'd left it. He frowned, wondering if the creature had been edging toward the conflict, hoping to get involved itself. However, even as he considered that perhaps he ought to train his worg in combat so that it could serve as a second pet, he heard something behind him, and he whirled around, his hand shifting toward his bow.

However, instead of another enemy, it was merely the ungrateful wench he'd saved.

She shifted her weight a little, though she quickly adjusted herself again, as she'd put too much pressure on her injured leg. Gaze on several rocks a few yards to the side, she shrugged a little. "They killed my mount, and I need to get to the Crossroads."

Lash eyed her. "What for?"

Anger flickered over her features again as she glared at him. "Did you not see them? There's dozens more, and they're headed for Mulgore!" She pointed south accusingly, as though his ignorance alone would allow the Alliance to ransack their territory. "We have to warn Thunderbluff!"

With a nod, Lash turned away from her, jogging back to his worg. He called over his shoulder, "I'll let them know."

"You can't leave me out here!"

Stopping next to his mount, he looked back to see that she was hobbling after him, using her sword as s crutch. "I thought you had it handled."

"The fight maybe…" She stopped, even as he hauled himself up onto his mount. The worg paced, eager to be on the move. "I know how many and what classes they're bringing. I won't tell you, so you'll need to bring me with you to the Crossroads." When Lash simply tilted his head at her, she scowled. "People are going to die! What more do you want?"

With a sigh, Lash pulled his worg up to stop in front of her and offered her a hand. "Hurry up, would you?"

 

~"~

 

Khai'rhi lay curled up against Genji beneath the covers, her head resting against one of his shoulders. Life was definitely getting better, and if the past week was any indication of what the rest of their lives would be like, then Khai'rhi was whole-heartedly looking forward to spending hers with Genji. She could even imagine a few children running about, curled up in bed with them as they learned not to fear what might be in the dark, playing and filling the house with laughter, and—on occasion—being shipped off to Ta'lim's house so that Khai'rhi and Genji could have a night to themselves.

She smiled to herself as she snuggled closer to him, though she didn't even get a chance to voice her contentment before a loud rapping began on the door downstairs. Khai'rhi’s and Genji's ears twitched, but they made no move to answer the door. Anyone who would want to speak with them would know to come back later. Or message them on the guild stones. They were still checking them, after all—the whole 'don't use them, there's a spy' thing had been a great way to get some peace and quiet from the general drama that plagued their guild, though.

After almost ten minutes, however, Genji finally sighed and flipped the bed sheets off of him, looking around for his clothes as he carefully slid out from under Khai'rhi. "Ah go get it...."

Khai'rhi caught his hand. "Hurreh back, yeh?"

He smiled and leaned forward to nuzzle his nose in her hair before slipping on his robe and sauntering downstairs. After all, he wasn't going anywhere, so it wasn't like he'd need to get fully dressed. The rapping kept up, and as Genji drew closer to the door, he realized that someone was using both hands. It sounded like they were tapping out some sort of beat. He tried to plaster a smile on his face as he swung the door open. "Can Ah help—"

"Stun-lock!"

 

~"~

 

The Crossroads had been under attack when Lash and Kiaga Bloodblade reached it.The two had been forced to fight their way through the Alliance. The flightmaster had thrown himself into the brawl as well, delaying any outgoing messages.

Though Lash had tried to find someone who could free up a windrider so that Thunderbluff could be warned of the imminent attack, one of the few healers struggling to keep everyone alive had tossed a heal to Kiaga and, her leg healed, she'd flung herself into battle.

Lash had played support, taking out any Alliance who looked like they might be able to overtake their opponents. Unlike Kiaga, most of the Crossroads inhabitants gave him simple nods of thanks before wearily moving to help their comrades and neighbors.

When the last of the Alliance began to retreat, Lash managed to catch Kiaga before she could chase after them. Even as she turned on him, unbridled anger in her eyes, he shook her. "Think, would you?"

She blinked at him and then grumbled a few curses under her breath, the blood lust fading.

Lash wasn't sure why, but he followed her to make sure she would make it onto a windrider. She'd been a beauty to see fighting, her sword acting as an extension of her body as she fought. He'd nearly been caught off guard twice when he'd caught glimpses of her through the carnage. Duskeh had saved him once, and another orc had come to his aid the second time. He paused when he realized that said orc was the flightmaster.

Even as he remembered the grin the orc had given him, along with a wink as he'd nodded in Kiaga's direction, he found a fist holding out a set of reins to him. Lash blinked and looked up to see Kiaga standing in front of him, holding on to two windriders.

Taking a step back, Lash started to shake his head. "I need to go back to Orgrimmar—"

"They have messengers going to alert the city and send reinforcements to Thunderbluff already," Kiaga shook her head. She thrust the hand with the reins in it toward him again. "We need to go warn the tauren."

"I—" Lash's mouth hung open as he stared at her. He could envision Gore telling him that if he wanted to be a part of Impervious, that there was but one rule that would be truly hard to follow. One rule that, were it not for Gregor, would not exist. His uncle had made him swear that he would never engage in faction conflict. Never go looking for it. If he was attacked, he was to flee, to make a 'tactful retreat'.

Cowardly as it had seemed, Lash had always thought it would be easy to follow. How hard was it to simply avoid the Alliance and work against third party enemies? But now…

Kiaga growled, narrowing her eyes. "You are decent with that bow, and we will need all the help we can get against the force moving on Thunderbluff. Unless you're planning to kill the Lich King yourself, there's no need for you in Orgrimmar. We need you in the front lines. Protect our people."

It only took a moment for Lash to make up his mind.

 

~"~

 

"Well, maybeh it be time ta get rid a dat wort'less 'lock, yeh?" Haa'aji shrugged as he lunged forward and startled one of the Scarlet Crusaders guarding the entrance to the monastery. He snapped the terrified human's neck before the man could even cry out something about the plague. "Maybeh we find a betta 'lock. Ah just a mage a sumtin'."

Liila dotted up one of the other crusaders as he came around the corner and spotted them. "I like Timmons. I don't want him to go away."

Haa'aji shrugged, tossing a dagger so that it hit a Scarlet mage in the throat before Liila could cast a spell on it. "Well, maybeh… I dunno, mon. Insteada fixatin' on dat moron, how about dat spikeh elf, yeh? Sethyl. He seem nice 'n strong. Maybeh ya two can get all cuddleh—"

"Are ya frikkin' serious?" Wrachette sat on top of Cloudless' shoulder as the tauren followed along slowly behind them. He wasn't even bothering to throw any heals on them. It wasn't like they'd need them.

Haa'aji started walking backwards so that he could eye the little goblin. "What be ya problem, yeh?"

"My problem," Wrachette snapped, as she patted Cloudless on top of his head, "is that we got us a heartbroken guildie here. Could ya lay off the love talk?"

Cloudless let out a slow sigh. "It's fine. I'm not really listening to anything they say anyway."

"No, it's not fine!" Wrachette cried out, crossing her arms pointedly, only to uncross them and grip Cloudless' shoulder so that she wouldn't fall. "Ya shouldn't have ta hide away in ya head just to avoid listenin' ta these two." She pointed accusingly at Haa'aji as he flipped a dagger out and stabbed behind him in time to nail one of the crusaders in the face just as she came around a corner. "Cloudless here is in pain! Don't ya get it? Gut-wrenchin', heart-breakin', dream-smashin', hope-killin'—"

"You can stop any time," Cloudless murmured, frowning.

"Fire-dousin', lung-collapsin'—"

"Seriously, I don't want to talk about it."

"Agonizin' pain." Wrachette nodded pointedly, her ears bobbing.

Cloudless' shoulders slumped, and Wrachette cried out as she nearly slid off him. However, he caught her before she could hit the ground and set her back on his shoulder after straightening back up.

Haa'aji frowned. "Well, if he be so heartbroken, ya shouldn't be takin' advantage a him, yeh?" Even as the little goblin scoffed at the idea, Haa'aji held his arms out. "Ya be usin' him as a damn pedestal, wooman. De rest a us be walkin', right Genji?"

The troll mage's eye twitched as he was dragged into the conversation. Wrachette, however, used it as the perfect ploy to avert the conversation from her own shortcomings. "Ya know, Haaney, ya really ain't got nothin', if ya gotta ask the guy ya kidnapped ta back ya up."

Haa'aji rolled his eyes. "Nahbodeh been kidnapped."

"Pretty sure knockin' somebody out and then takin' them against their will ta an undisclosed location without tellin' anyone where ya took them counts as kidnappin'." Wrachette raised her eyebrows as she shrugged.

"Dat not been what happened, mon—"

"Why would ya yell 'stun-lock', neway?" Genji scowled as he glared at Haa'aji.

Even as the rogue shrugged his shoulders and flipped another dagger over his shoulder to hit a member of the Scarlet Crusade in the back as they ran to warn the others of the Horde group infiltrating the monastery, Wrachette counted on her fingers, her frowning deepening. "Actually, I think we've broken like fourteen laws since we've been here."

"Yeah, you probably don't want to talk to any guards if you see them," Liila murmured, pausing in her steps until Genji caught up. She hugged his arm. "Thank you for your help, by the way."

As Genji muttered a quick, 'no problem', Haa'aji shrugged. "Gotta say, t'ough. Ya 'n Khai'rhi've come a ways, yeh? Ah mean, dis time last year, she'd a been messagin' meh nonstop, askin' if Ah could find ya..."

Even as Genji's eye twitched as it finally dawned on him that Khai'rhi was probably still waiting for him to come back, Liila patted his hand. "I sent her a message saying you'd be back soon."

Genji abruptly picked up his pace, acrane blasting a few crusaders as the group finally came in sight of the entrance to the graveyard wing of the monastery. "Let's get dis ova wit'." He took out a few more of the crazed humans and glared back at Haa'aji. "'n next time, just ask, yeh? A get somebodeh else."

"Mitchell said he'd port us, but he wasn't gonna come, so we needed somebodeh ta port us home...." Haa'aji paused as Genji stopped in his tracks.

"Ya mean de onleh reason Ah be hea instead a somebodeh else is so ya can get a damn portal? What about Ma'garet? A Sprocket?"

"Ma'garet be too fascinated wit' Gregor 'n Timmons' new heartbeats, yeh? 'n Sprocket's buseh takin' ova de auction house."

"'n Ah be buseh wit' meh lova!" Genji scowled and tried to set Haa'aji's hair on fire, only to get stunned again.

Liila and the others watched as the two trolls broke out into a fight, in the middle of the monastery's foyer, with a few terrified crusaders watching them from the shadows. Haa'aji's mention of Timmons had brought back the disappointment that he was avoiding her, even after his release from the dungeons. When she and Haa'aji had gone running to Mitchell for help, she'd barely seen his back as it disappeared into the back room of Gregor's house. Even though they'd tried to persuade the trio—Gregor, Mitchell, and Timmons—to come with them, Mitchell had insisted that he needed to make a full evaluation of where Timmons and Gregor stood and then he'd dejectedly and bitterly added that none of them were allowed in the Undercity any longer. Even though Haa'aji had merely shrugged and waved a few orbs of the sin'dorei at him—it was the only way he, Liila, and Shadow could use portals to the Undercity to avoid taking the zeppelin—Gregor had stepped in and said that if for no other reason, they ought to leave them be to give Timmons time to adjust.

Liila still felt somewhat rejected by her warlock friend. After all, just because he had a heartbeat didn't change that he was Timmons, did it?

"Ah tink ya 'n Khai'rhi need some time ta yaselves. Ah mean, if ya togetha evereh second a de day, ya gonna grow tired a each otha." He paused and winked as he dodged Genji's fist easily, only to get rooted to the floor in a ring of ice. "Give yaself a month a...a few years, even. Separation makes de heart grow fonda, yeh?"

Cloudless paused as Genji tried to sheep Haa'aji, only to have the rogue shadow step behind him and grip him in a tight hug. Though Haa'aji had been talking to Genji, he'd given Liila such a pointed look, like he expected her to take his advice about something. Cloudless eyed the little elf carefully, though she didn't give anything away as she stepped around the dueling trolls and wandered into the graveyard.


	29. Winding On and Settling In

Ta'lim eyed one of the pumpkin ribbons that was going up over the auction house, tilting his head one way and then the other. He took a few steps back, eyes narrowed and then pointed toward the right orc who was holding it in place. "Move it up jus' a hair." He paused, waiting until the man finished. Then the banner went through the same scrutiny as before. "Ah s'pose it be lookin' good, yeh? Make su'a it don' slip none while ya tack it in place."

While the one orc obediently hammered in a few nails, the one on the other side reached toward her belt with one hand and stopped. "Sir, I forgot my supplies."

"Dammit…" Ta'lim held his hands up toward her. "Don' be movin' now. Don' need dat banna slippin'." He looked around, picking up a few nails and then glanced over the waxing and waning bustle of the streets. A young elven lad was inspecting the preparations with boredom. Holding a finger up to the orcess, Ta'lim walked over to the elf. "'Ey, mon."

"Hello…" The elf straightened up a little.

"Dat be a crossbow?"

The elf glanced over his shoulder and then pulled the weapon in front of him, nodding.

"Can Ah see dat, jus' a sec? Ah nah gonna break it a nuttin'." The elf seemed puzzled, but handed it over with slight suspicion. As soon as it was in his hands, Ta'lim whirled around and fired at the banner. The orcess stilled with a deer-in-the-headlights look as Ta'lim lowered the weapon, eyes narrowed. He called up to her. "Let it go now?" When she jerked herself away from it, nearly toppling from the ladder, he looked it over, nodding slowly. "Dat works. Try ta rememba ya stuff next time, yeh?" He handed the elf back his crossbow.

As the orcess scurried down her ladder and hurriedly gathered her supplies so that she wouldn't be shot at again, Ta'lim let his gaze wander around the rest of the area. Overall, things were coming along nicely. He'd had to beg and plead with so many people just to be in charge of this year's event, and he intended to show the world that he was more than just a courier. He wanted to give back to the community he loved so. After calling out a few positive comments to the workers, he began down the Drag, looking over the different shops and the like as they donned their decorations as well. Things were definitely looking festive.

However, when he continued along the road toward the Valley of Wisdom, he picked up his pace. None of the decorations were up. Hell, it didn't look like anyone had even started on it yet. Searching the area, he honed in on one of the trolls working for him, and he jogged over. "Wat de hell be goin' on hea?"

"We ain't got nuttin' ta put up," the troll shrugged. He paused, brow furrowing. "Ah still be getting' paid fa dis, yeh? 'Cause Ah be waitin' fa ya ta give meh sumtin'."

Ta'lim ground his teeth slowly, half wanting to kick the troll's tusks out. "Don' be movin'. Ah see wat happen."  Whirling around, he hurried to the tailoring shop, where the benevolent owner had allowed them to store their decorations until everything could be put in place. They'd considered working out of Whisper's Vials, but hadn't wanted Timmons or Enlyhn to tip any potions onto something again. They'd done that the year before and now Enlyhn had a pet jack-o-lantern that could actually uproot itself and follow after him, like some warped pet. There would be no sinister squashlings this year. Not on Ta'lim's watch.

The owner greeted him warmly, and Ta'lim tried to hide his anxiety with a smile that was a bit too wide. "Ah don' mean ta be a botha a nothin', but ya seen de boxes supposed ta go ta de Valleh a Wisdom?"

Thinking back, the owner looked through what was left and then stopped near a few boxes. "Here they are."

Relieved, Ta'lim trotted over, though his smile vanished when he counted the boxes. "…Ah t'aught dea supposed ta be twelve a dese, nah eleven."

"One of your men came by and picked up the first one. He said he'd be back for the rest, but he hasn't shown up yet." The owner shrugged.

Puzzled, Ta'lim thought back to the lazily idiots in the valley and then the other areas he'd been supervising. He hadn't seen any extra supplies and surely someone would have noticed if there was something in the wrong place. Surely _he'd_ have noticed. "Don' suppose ya rememba who dis guy was who came by?"

"Some troll."

Ta'lim stilled. "Ya rememba wat he look like?"

With a shrug that hinted his growing irritation, the shopkeeper frowned. "I didn't really pay attention." He thought back and then his face lightened. "I remember thinking he was bigger than most trolls."

"'N greena den mos' Da'kspea?"

"Now that you mention it, yes."

Ta'lim closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself not to scream. When he finally opened his eyes again, he smiled at the shopkeeper. "Tanks, mon. Ah gonna send a few people ta come get dis stuff now. If dat firs' troll show up, tell him we don' be needin' his help fa now." Though the orc seemed puzzled, he nodded and went back to his business as Ta'lim hurried back to get things on track.

When the workers were on their way to pick up the supplies, Ta'lim slipped out of sight and pulled out his guild stone.

_Haa'aji, you prick. Tell me you didn't steal festival supplies._

At first there was no reply, and so he tried Liila, asking if she'd seen the troll in question. When she replied, he felt even more lost.

_He's stealing a lot of things lately. I'll try to get your decorations back._

Ta'lim offered her a word of thanks and then looked around the area again, offering a quick prayer to the loa that nothing else would go wrong.

~"~

Renza'shi sat on the porch-like area of one of the inns, watching the preparations for the festivities with glazed over eyes. He'd considered trying to help out, but a few members of his old guild had gotten involved—no doubt they were trying to repair the relationships with the rest of the Horde that had been so decimated under Garrosh's orders—and he had felt it would be too awkward to work with them. As it was, he bumped into old guild members everywhere, and they always gave him that same disapproving look. Embry had tried to talk him into coming back, saying that everyone knew he was loyal to the Horde and that his actions could be overlooked.

Like he'd done something wrong. Guilds were fucking optional. If he wanted to be guildless, then that was his choice. He oughtn't have to stick around with a group of people he didn't like, just because.

While he'd been adamant that he stood by his decision, in truth, he was having his doubts. Had leaving the only guild he'd ever really felt a part of been a good idea?

Since he'd left Blood and Honor, he'd felt lost. He'd considered trying out for a new guild, but then, he didn't want to have to explain why he'd left his old one. Everything seemed to connect just enough to make sure that he was caged in, like an animal, with the only way out one that he himself had locked shut.

He'd sat down the day before to have an ale to calm his nerves, and he had yet to go home. At this point, the only reason he kept ordering drinks was because he had the vaguest notion that he couldn't get a hangover if he never sobered up.

The way the world was beginning to twirl around him made him wonder that, if he drank enough, would he wake up in another place altogether. Maybe he'd open his eyes to a world where he hadn't trapped himself yet.

As he stared blankly out into the street, something shifted beside him, and he heard someone plop down. Turning his head slightly, he frowned when he saw Cinder sitting beside him. Great. Someone from the _other_ guild he couldn't seem to escape.

She had two drinks, one which she was already sipping from and one held out to him. He took it with as much grace as he could muster and took a long sip. Gagging, he spit up most of the drink.

"De hell, mon?"

"I figured you could use a tonic. It's not healthy to drink so much," Cinder grinned at him as she looked him over. She took another sip from her own mug. "So. I hear you left Blood and Honor."

"Ah don' wanna talk about it."

Cinder pursed her lips and leaned her elbows on her knees. "Fair enough."

Renza'shi leaned forward as well, sighing and condemning himself to headaches as he managed to stomach most of the tonic in a single gulp. Like removing arrows, it was always best for him if it was done quickly. Sure enough, any clarity that might have been brought on by the drink was instantly overshadowed with a painful throb in his head. As he ran his fingers through his hair, he felt the soft brush of magic over him. He shivered, looking to see a green glow fading out around Cinder's hands.

"Ya realleh waste ya magic on hangovas?"

"My guildies tend to need that sort of healing a lot," Cinder shrugged. "With all we go through, they somehow don't tend to handle stress well. Bunch of babies."

"Wat _do_ ya go t'rough, exactleh?"

"How'd you lose your tusks?" Cinder countered. When he just stared at her blankly, she shrugged. "You tell me a story, and I might tell you one back."

"Ah tink ya hopin' Ah still be drunk, 'cause dat ain't no deal Ah'd strike."

"Fine. I _will_ tell you a story, but you have to go first. Happy?"

"Su'a, t'ough it ain't dat interestin'," Renza'shi shifted around a little on the ledge, getting comfortable. "Back befoa Ah was even in Blood 'n Hona, Ah been roaming de contested areas jus' ta see what trouble Ah could get mahself in." He smiled slightly, thinking back. "This one day, Ah got mahself in too deep. Ah go afta dis liila mage, tinkin' he all alone. Tu'ns out it was jus' him 'n fifteen close friends. They been comin' up in some pinca move a sumtin'."

"Damn."

"Yeh," Renza'shi shrugged, rubbing his jaw near where his tusks had once been. "Neway, Ah realize dere ain't no runnin', so Ah buckle down fa a fight, figurin' Ah take out as maneh as Ah can 'n maybe people call mah dead ass brave instead a dumb. Ah got about four a dem down when dey got de betta of meh. So Ah be on de ground, yeh? 'n dis elf decides he gonna bash meh brains in. But Ah roll jus' in time so dat he just splintas mah left tusk." Renza'shi tapped his cheek and grinned at Cinder's wide-eyed expression.

"Dat pissed meh off, mon. Ah figua Ah gonna die, but dey gotta make meh ugleh first? Ah not be havin' none a dat." He shook his head and pounded his fist into his other palm. "So Ah got dat mace from dat elf and bashed him in. Den Ah get a few a his friends, yeh? But dey still out numba meh, so Ah fall again. 'n dis time, dey don' wanna jus' kill meh, dey wanna make meh suffa, 'cause Ah hurt dea friends. So dey hold meh down, and one a dem dwarf rogues gouge out meh otha tusk." He paused and held his cheek out a little so that Cinder could see the scars lining the inside of it and on his jaw where his tusk had been removed.

"How'd you get away?"

Renza'shi paused, his hand dropping back to his lap. "Takna been watchin' mah fool ass, yeh? He t'aught at first dat Ah jus' be some dumb nobodeh, so he was gonna let meh die. Den he sees meh comin' up swingin' again 'n changed his mind. Fifteen ta one 'n Ah took out nine a dem." He nodded to himself. The memory was more bitter than sweet, now that he'd left the guild. "Neway, dat been how Ah lost mah tusks."

"So you just had what was left of the left one removed?"

"Yeh. It been cracked all de way ta meh jaw bone, neway. It was just gonna be infected all de time if Ah kept it."

"Why didn't one of your healers just fix it?"

"Damn, wooman," Renza'shi arched his brow. "Ya lot be wastin' magic all ova de place, yeh? Most healas ain't gonna expend all kinds a magic ta fix sumtin' mostleh cosmetic when dea be a simple hack 'n slash solution." He shrugged. "Besides, dis be betta fa balance. Mah tusks been huge, so Ah'd a always had mah head tilted ta de side wit' jus' one."

Cinder nodded slowly, absentmindedly wondering if she were to use a strong enough spell, if she could actually re-grow the troll's tusks. However, before she could consider what she would have to test that on, Renza'shi nudged her with his elbow. "So, den. What be ya storeh, eh?"

"Huh?" Even as Renza'shi frowned, Cinder groaned and ran her fingers down her face. "Gods, I did tell you that I'd tell you something in exchange, didn't I?" As she paused again, it occurred to Renza'shi that he wasn't the only drunken redhead sitting on that stoop. With a sigh, Cinder shook her head. "We have too many love shapes in our guild."

"De fuk be dat?"

"You heard of love triangles?" When Renza'shi's expression deadpanned, she rolled her eyes. "We've got love squares and love circles and love hexagons and love stars and all sorts of crap. Like half of the guild is depressed because someone either doesn't like them or they like the wrong someone else and just bleh. And some of them are all mopey and depressed and it's like, try growing up without an actual race to call your own and see how much you really have to be sad about, you know?" Cinder's eyes widened a little, and she looked at Renza'shi. "Shit, did I say that out loud?"

"Yeh, mon, ya did." Renza'shi reached out and patted her head, though she batted his hand away. "Ya eva t'aught ta look at it like instead a one race, ya got two?"

"People don't let you look at it that way. Some will, but so many…so, so many…" Cinder stared at her hands for a minute. "I think that's why I miss Nimlia so much. She didn't care what I was. She just liked me for me."

"Ah don' know who Nimlia be…"

"She was my lover, and she left me." Tears pricked Cinder's eyes. "And now I'm alone surrounded by people, and it's dumb, and I don't wanna be a love polygon." Her second sentence had been spoken in one long exhale before she burst into tears. Renza'shi stared at her, wide-eyed, half wondering if he could be held at fault for making her cry.

Reaching out tentatively, he patted her back. "It be okay. Dea be dat sayin' 'bout doors closing and flingin' open 'n getting' broken a sumtin', yeh? Ya find sum’n else."

Abruptly she'd stopped crying. "Where?"

"Uh, wat?"

Cinder eyed him. "Where in this world or any other am I going to find someone as perfect as Nimlia?"

Staring down at the wooden blanks between the two of them, Renza'shi found himself too tired to try to figure out how this conversation was moving along. Instead, he merely shrugged. "Ah dunno. Dea be a lot a people at de bars dis time a day. Maybeh try dea?"

"Would you be my wing man?"

"Don' ya got a whole guild fa dat?"

"Um, were you not listening? They're all, like, emotionally stunted and stuff." She paused, face growing serious. "Like, _all_ of them."

"Dat be good, den. Dey make ya look good." He chose not to point out that she would fit in well with what she was describing.

Cinder stared at him, her chin stuck out so that her small tusks stuck out more than usual. "Is there a real reason that it can't be you? I mean, is staring at the street really that important to you?"

Renza'shi ran his hand down his face, closing his eyes. Finally, he gave in. "How dis be. Ah go wit' ya 'n we pretend break up? De guys be all ova ya—"

"I'm into women. Did you not hear me when I said 'she' left me? God. Talking to you is like talking to Timmons."

"'Nehone eva tell ya dat talkin' ta _ya_ make somebodeh wanna slap ya?"

"All the time, actually," Cinder frowned. She paused when she noticed him look ready to inquire further. "They may want to, but they don't lay a hand on me." She smirked. "If you ever decide to try it, you'd better make that first hit count, because you won't get another shot. I'll kick your ass."

Renza'shi patted her head. "Ya be a ball a all kinds a feelin's right now, huh?" When her shoulders slumped, he laughed. "Ah tink maybeh ya hold off on lookin' fa anotha gu’l, yeh? Dem some deep wounds ya sportin', 'n onleh ting ta heal dem be time."

At first, he thought Cinder was going to blow him off, but instead, she considered his words and nodded slowly. As she hopped off the stoop, she looked back at him, dusting off her kilt. "Same to you, okay?"

Even as he started to object that he hadn't lost any lovers, she mouthed three words and he let out a small laugh and nodded, shooing her away with a motion.

_Blood and Honor._

~"~

Mitchell slammed his palm against Timmons' chest and forced him to sit back on the fainting couch. He'd somehow managed to procure two of them and had taken over the top floor in Gregor's small hut. Gregor lay on the other fainting couch, legs crossed at the ankles and hands clasped over his stomach, a tired expression the only hint that if he thought he could make it outside without getting sheeped that he would be gone.

Timmons dug his nails into Mitchell's arm, hating that the undead mage could take more pain than he could. "I'm sure the guards have all been briefed on Gregor and my situation. If I want to go for a walk, I doubt it will hurt your precious experiment—"

"You won't come back. I'm not stupid," Mitchell snapped.

"That's debatable."

"Children, please," Gregor murmured. He'd draped an arm over his eyes. As Mitchell stared at him, he tilted his head. Gregor's chest rose and fell so naturally, as though he'd never _not_ breathed.

After giving Timmons a suspicious once over, he sat back down in the chair he'd placed between the two of their couches. "Now then," he pulled out a clipboard with a list of questions on it. Under each were two boxes, one for Timmons and one for Gregor. "I have some questions to establish how the experiment has changed you. Maybe, after we talk a bit, I can figure out what exactly needs to be done to fix you."

Gregor sucked in a slow breath. "By 'fix', you mean restore completely to being human, yes?"

"Duh, I didn't make a cure for the plague just to fuck people up all over again."

"You might not, but I can easily see the Society doing it," Gregor muttered, the corners of his lips dipping down.

Mitchell watched the ease with which the muscles moved and jotted a quick note of it. "So then, I have a feeling that, at least for now, any potential problems will be seen in Timmons, rather than you, sir, since he's been breathing longer—"

"I'm right here," Timmons muttered. His arms were crossed across his chest, and he was sulking, but at least he wasn't trying to run off anymore.

"Anyway," Mitchell snapped, shooting a glare at the warlock before looking back to Gregor. "I'm mostly gonna just expect answers from him, but if you wanna chime in, please do."

"Tell me, is this the sort of thing you do to those humans you keep in cages?" Timmons asked, smirking slightly when Gregor straightened up, half off his fainting couch.

"You what?"

"I don't agree with the Society's housing methods for the test subjects, but I'm banned from the city, too, remember? I can't go fixing things for them." Mitchell glared at both of them and then tapped the clipboard against his lap. "So can I start? Or are you gonna keep being a dick so that I can never fix you?" The comment was addressed to Timmons, though he heard Gregor grunt something under his breath. When both of them had settled back down, he looked at his list. "Alright, then. Have either of you experienced any odd twitches?"

Gregor and Timmons exchanged a glance. Timmons leaned forward. "What?"

"My first success, Fluffy, has this odd tic in his face. I wasn't sure if I fixed that or not. So, any twitches? Maybe a toe that taps a bit too much? Or even a blood vessel? Maybe your arm itches a bit from a nerve ending throbbing? I need to know about this stuff now, because it could be a sign of an underlying problem."

"Like being dead?" Timmons asked, though as Mitchell scowled, Gregor sighed.

"I haven't felt anything like that."

Timmons rolled his eyes. "Neither have I."

Mitchell nodded, scribbling a few notes. "That's good. Now, have either of you gotten any injuries since your change? Anything. A papercut, maybe a bruise from catching a finger in a door…?"

Gregor shook his head and Timmons shrugged. "I scraped my arm up a bit when I was storming Stromgarde."

"Did it bleed at all?"

"Uh, I think so?" Timmons was tempted to see just how durable this body was and jump out the window. This was so annoying. Though, if he could be a living man again…

"So it clotted on its own?" When Timmons stared at him blankly, the mage slouched his shoulders, annoyed. "You need to pay attention to this stuff. That you haven't exsanguinated means the blood had to have stopped flowing. Was it because of clotting? Which part of your arm was hurt?" Mitchell leaned toward him, eyes wide enough that they could almost be seen around the edges of the straps crisscrossing his face.

Timmons held up his arm, rolling his sleeve back. His arm looked normal, but he traced a small circle over his skin. "Around here, I think."

Mitchell poked him with his boney finger. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes."

"And this?"

"Yes."

"And this—"

"I think it's safe to say I can feel my arm." Timmons caught Mitchell's hand before he could try again. "So drop it, okay?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you weren't regressing or something," Mitchell muttered, pulling his hand free and settling back into his chair. "Anyway, do you know if it healed on its own or if it wasn't until some outside force interacted with you, be it a healing potion or healing magic or life drain or something?"

Eye twitching, Timmons slipped his dagger out. Even as Gregor started up to get in between the two casters, Timmons ran the tip of the blade down part of his arm to make a small, shallow cut. When he was done, he shoved his dagger back into its holder on his hip. "There. Now we'll see what happens, won't we?"

Mitchell pulled out his stone and scribbled a few notes on it before sending out a message. Both Gregor and Timmons' stones chimed, and they pulled them out to see Mitchell's message had been broadcast to everyone.

_Under no circumstances is anyone to heal the cut on Timmons' forearm. It's for science._

Gregor rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Are there many more of these questions?"

"I'm on number two of ninety."

Gregor looked as tired as Timmons felt. "This will really help?"

"Yes." Mitchell drummed his fingers against the clipboard in unison. When Gregor motioned for him to go on, he looked back down at the paper. "Okay…have you noticed the resurgence of any allergies you had while you were living? Like to food or…?"

"I haven't needed to eat," Gregor replied, sitting up. "That's a problem, right?"

"It might be," Mitchell murmured, writing something down.

"It has to be. I want to be a normal man. Not some…weird creature." Gregor looked desperate as he tried and failed to find the words for his fears.

"Okay, well, if neither of you are eating, that rules out a few questions, at least…" Mitchell scratched his pen across the paper. "Let's skip around a bit…" He flipped a few pages into his questionnaire. He paused, glancing at Gregor and then Timmons. "So have either of you had an erection since you started breathing again? If so, was it because of natural arousal or was it—"

"I'm out," Timmons swung his legs off the couch and started toward the stairs.

"I don't need _details_ from your twisted mind, I just need to know if it happens. And, you know, if it's an appropriate response to stimulation you enjoy or, you know, if it's like Fluffy's twitch."

Timmons stopped on top of the stairs, flipping Mitchell the bird. "I don't have a twitch."

~"~

Sprocket trotted up to the nearest mailbox and peered inside, grinning when he saw a few weighted envelopes with his name on it. In Everlook, he'd always had his mail delivered directly to him and had often wondered about how people counted on the altruism of others to not tamper with their mail.

Now that he was in Orgrimmar, he knew. The envelopes were enchanted. If someone tried to lift one that didn't belong to them and held it for more than ten seconds, it would zap them with a soft warning spell. The longer they held it, the harsher the zap. While, sure, there were ways around it, most people weren't skilled enough to break into others' mail and so the system worked.

Sprocket loved how neat and organized the letters were, as well. They were inserted with such care near the top of the boxes, leaving anyone able to simply thumb through them. Taking the envelopes, he felt them in the hand, and—accounting for the miniscule weight of the paper of the envelope and the cut the auction house took—figured that he had roughly one thousand gold coming in to him. It wasn't as good as he was used to, but it was a start.

However, even as he idly flipped through the notes, checking which auctions were actually selling so that he would know which markets to focus on, a shadow loomed over him, and he stopped in his tracks. Looking up, he frowned when he realized that a surprisingly well-dressed orc stood in his path. A few others, many whose clothes hinted at affluence, stood behind him.

Sprocket crossed his arms, instinctively curling his hand around his envelope for a better grip on his new coin. "There a problem?"

"That depends," the orc replied, his words gruff and unfitting his fine garments. "Are you the goblin who's been undercutting everyone?"

With a slow, low laugh, Sprocket shook his head. "Friend, I don't undercut nobody. I buy low and sell high. Now if you've got a problem with me hikin' up the prices of a few items, talk ta me. Otherwise, I got places ta be and a business ta set up."

A few of the onlookers glanced at one another and murmured, though it was the orc who continued to address him, without a need to consult the rest of his posse. "If you really want to work the auction house, then we've got a few…unofficial rules to play by. Arrangements that ensure most of us go home happy. After all, there's no reason to start a price war that leaves all of us raking in coppers instead of gold, yes?"

Sprocket tilted his head way back so that he could peer down his nose at the creature towering over him. He'd been waiting to hear from this lot. "I take it ya guys are the United Bankers of Orgrimmar?"

"Indeed we are."

"Well then, let's hear these rules ya got."

~"~

Sprocket sauntered into his hut, his stride even, even as he grimaced at the sight of the barren hovel. He was going to need to upgrade and soon. At least he was if he wanted to live the way he had back in Everlook. He stared longingly at a box in the corner that held a few of his winter clothes. He missed that frozen hellhole. However, he'd already sent word that he was abandoning the cartel.

There was no going back now.

Drumming his fingers against his pocket with his gold in it, he walked up the central, winding walkway to the second floor of the hut and flashed a toothy grin when he saw that Tizzle was there, as well. The goblin priest had half a dozen documents spread out on the floor around him, and he was combing over them with excruciating attention, as though missing a single period would bring his whole world crashing down.

Considering it already had fallen to pieces, it was odd that he'd be so desperate.

"Heya, pal."

Tizzle jumped and looked up, peering at Sprocket. "Heya…" The goblins had all pitched in to buy this little house after looking at a few different ones, if only so that they wouldn't be shoved into tiny corners in their friends' abodes.

"So, ah, not to cross any lines here, but are ya the moron that's been undercutting everyone in the auction house lately?"

Tizzle sat upright, his back rigid and ears lowered. "I may have thrown a few things up there for cheap. Why?"

"By few, do ya mean four hundred seventy-three auctions?"

"Yeah. Like I said. A few." Tizzle murmured. Sprocket nodded slightly, considering that he had well over a thousand on the market at the moment. However, Tizzle had caught on that something was amiss. His whole body was tense. "How do ya know how many auctions I got up?"

"You're steppin' on toes, my friend. And makin' enemies. Fast."

Tizzle slouched down again, his gaze wandering over the different documents scattered around him. "Well, damn.” He hesitated, picking at the corner of one of the pages. "I don't suppose ya could help a goblin out, hm?" When Sprocket narrowed his eyes, Tizzle shrugged a little. "Everythin' Wrach and I worked our asses off ta earn was in that tavern when it went up in smoke. I had decent insurance, but me declarin' ta be Horde nullified my claim." He stared off into space. "Nobody here wants ta listen to a sob story about financial losses. I'd a thought, what with all the adventurers comin' through my tavern, that the Sprogworks name would have carried at least a bit of weight, but no one gives a damn. It's bad enough that Wrach had ta pay my share of the house. Now… Wrach is so star struck with adventure she doesn't see it, but it's like Ma left us all over again. We got nothin'."

"Ya just tryin' ta get the capital to start up another tavern?" With a pointed look, Sprocket crossed his arms. "Look, just don't go crashin' the economy tryin' ta make a few gold, alright? Since we're guildies, I told the people lookin' for ya that it was an honest mistake and that ya wouldn't toss up any ridiculously low auctions anymore. Don't go makin' me a liar, Tizz."

"I won't," Tizzle replied quickly. He noticed a bit of a gleam in his fellow goblin's eyes, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sprocket felt that he was getting his due, especially after the way he'd turned his back on Sprocket when he'd first come to them to warn them about the Alliance. "Ya know if they mind if I just keep up the current ones? Ta see if they sell?"

"Eh." Sprocket shrugged. He turned toward the stairs, heading off to peruse some different shops and see if he could make a few connections in the city. "Ya know, though. A lot of our guildies have at least a decent amount of gold. Ya could hit a few up ta help make the down payment and then just pay 'em back over time."

Tizzle merely grunted as he slumped down and went back to researching orcish permits laws and business standards. Sprocket considered telling the priest that he'd actually been coming home to cash in a most recent debt—to allay the other players of the auction house's fears, he'd paid them a lump sum of the difference between their wares and Tizzle's, so that the guild wouldn't get any backlash—but he decided to forgo that. After all, sometimes, it was good to just do something for someone, and there was no reason to kick a guildie while they were down.

Trotting out onto the street, he couldn't help but wonder if the feeling curling in his gut could be that warm, fuzzy feeling that people always rambled on about when they did good deeds. As he reached the door to the first shop on his planned route, he dismissed the idea, deciding instead to focus on how much money he was going to make after he had Orgrimmar eating out of his hands.


	30. Blood Ties

Sham stifled a yawn as she trotted down one of the less familiar streets of Orgrimmar. She knew every inch of the Valleys of Honor and Strength, yet the residential section of Orgrimmar felt like a foreign city. She and Gore lived near the edge of the 'neighborhood', as Sethyl had called it in passing.

The further in they went, the closer the buildings became. This street's huts were almost on top of one another. Even the shops in the Drag felt like they had more space.

The peon-esque guide for their group motioned to one of the huts and led them over. Wrachette was tending the shop today, while Tizzle, Sprocket, and Cloudless perused the housing market. Though Cloudless had already settled for something nearer to Sham's home, the goblins were being shrewd with their coin, insisting on seeing cheaper realty.

Sham squeezed Gore's hand as she looked about. She couldn't rightly say why the two of them were there. She'd offered to cover the shop in Wrachette's stead, but the goblin had been hell-bent on earning some coin. The trio was driven, if nothing else.

Tizzle had implored a few of the 'bulkier' guild mates to come with them. He wanted them to intimidate their realty agent, to assure that they would get the best deal.

Gore had come along, if only to stretch his legs. Since his resignation, it had been odd for him to wander the streets. Many grunts still saluted him, but the higher ranking soldiers seemed to have decided that his leaving was a betrayal.

While he didn't go out of his way to avoid people—that would be weak—he'd found himself burying himself in his research of Northrend more and more. That was when the rumors had started. He was ashamed, people said. While he'd never cared what people thought of him, when he heard that they were speaking poorly of Sham, Lash, and his guild, he'd decided he would tear himself away from his guild work to do little things.

Like help a few friends settle into the city.

Gore and Sham were not the only orcs present, either.

Blood took in a breath that raked against his windpipe unnaturally. As their guide squared his shoulders a little more than necessary, trying desperately to make up for his lack of size with newfound bravado, Sham reached out and thunked her knuckles against the side of Blood's helmet.

Instantly, the death knight's hands were both up, holding the metal in place as though so simple an action could knock his armor away. He let out a low growl that was accompanied with a puff of frozen air which curled through his teeth—the only visible part of his face.

"Don't."

Sham scowled, but pulled her hand away. "And don't you go harassing someone doing their job."

"I was asked—"

"To be a friend. Which you have been," Sham chastised. As Blood turned his attention toward the other orcs, Gore caught a glimpse of the glowing blue behind his helmet's eye slits and gave him a subtle, apologetic shrug. The way the death knight's eyes glowed, he couldn't be sure the orc had even seen him. It was impossible to tell which way death knights were looking.

Perhaps they saw things differently?

If they did, none of them mentioned it.

Even as Gore stepped up to Sprocket and asked the goblin just what his budget range was, thinking to speed this house hunting along, Blood shifted his jaw back and forth. He'd been asked to come be muscle, to be intimidating. While, yes, it was somewhat pointless, it was one of the few things he still did well.

And it gave him a chance to wander the old neighborhood. Once upon a time, he'd lived down these streets, though there had been so much added to the area that he found himself lost almost as soon as he set foot into the area. Every now and then he thought he recognized a house or home, but then there were strangers peeking out the doors at him, no one he could honestly remember.

All that change had already left him in a fickle mood. Sham's chastising, harmless as it was intended, was the last straw. With an irritated grunt, he nodded to them and then strode over to their tour guide. Slinging an arm over the orc's shoulders—compared to Gore and Blood, they could hardly be called broad—he gave him a smile that did little more than hint at teeth underneath his helm. "Do right by these fine goblins, and you'll never have to see me again."

Then, without waiting to hear questions of clarification from anyone, he sauntered off.

He'd spent almost twenty minutes wandering through the maze of streets when his confident stride finally slowed to a halt. It never did to appear uncertain, especially when everyone was waiting for you to fall back under an evil bastard's sway, so he quickly started walking again, perhaps a bit too quickly. To the void with getting back to the city, if he could just find his way to a nice, secluded side street, he'd go back to Acherus to check on Leafless.

She still hadn't returned, and everyone was beginning to wonder what latest drama had set her off. The tauren in their guild were definitely good for gossip, if not their skills. It bugged Blood. Leafless had been dealt one of the worst hands out of everyone in the guild, at least from his view. That people could marginalize her pain as simple drama was just…

Something thudded into one of Blood's legs, snapping him from his thoughts. Instinctively, he whirled around, a snarl twisting his rotted lips as he reached for his rune blade. However, rather than an enemy spy or even a mistrusting guard, a pack of orcish children stood behind him. At the head was a boy who couldn't have been more than twelve. He already sported a scar above his eyebrow—Blood noted the angle and would bet it was from a drunken fist and not whatever heroic encounter he no doubt told the others. The boy stood there unnerved for a moment and then tried to stand taller, defiant of the fearsome visage meeting his own stare.

He could postulate all he wanted, Blood could feel the fear in him. It was intoxicating, and he had to fight the urge to draw it out. He'd broken free from the Lich King so that he wouldn’t need such fears to sustain him, hadn't he?

A low growl sounded near his knee. Puzzled, Blood let his gaze slip down. A little orcess, four years old at most, was hugging one of his plated boots. Her eyes were on the others, and her teeth were bared. What would have stopped Blood's heart, though, was the shape of the brow and ears. Those ears. The way they curled just a little higher than most orcs’ ears…

Saphon's ears had been like that.

Saphon…how long had it been since he'd seen her? His wife… He kept an eye on his children when they went to market, sure, but he hadn't dared to come this close to home, never able to come up with a good excuse to be in this area of Orgrimmar. Until Tizzle and Sprocket, that is.

He'd hoped to catch a glimpse of her, to see that she was alright. He knew that they were doing okay financially—he was doing his damnedest to make sure of that—but he wanted to know that she was happy.

The little girl around his leg was his. Even without those ears, he'd memorized her features as he looked after the three from a distance. He could recognize each and every one of them. Even if they never saw him, never spoke another word to him, he'd been content to watch them grow and to make sure they had the opportunity to make something of themselves.

To become better than he had been.

He'd never wanted them to see him like this.

His older children were missing from the group of tormentors, to his relief. He inspected each of the aggressors to see if he recognized them. One or two looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place any names to faces. It had been hard enough to cling to what little of his past he had; other orcs' children hadn't been a matter of great importance.

Now, though, to see them harassing his little girl?

When he spoke, he lowered his voice, making sure the undertones that went with his voice were more pronounced. "Is there a problem here?"

The leader of the group wavered for a moment—as to be expected from a child—but he stood his ground. "This doesn't concern you, corpse."

Blood let out a slow chuckle, those tones making it echo even in the confined street. "You're quite the warrior, aren't you? Brave and strong."

The boy hesitated, the other children looking at him, confused. They clearly weren't expecting compliments. Finally, he shrugged.

"Sadly, not everyone can be a warrior," Blood motioned around them. "There are workers and crafters, among others. While there is no shame in doing something that is so crucial to a successful society, still, it is…unbecoming of a warrior to fight them, when the warrior knows their skill far exceeds their opponent's. There is no honor in killing someone or thing that cannot fight back."

The boy's eyes went to the girl still clinging to Blood's boot. Her grip had loosened.

"This young thing may make a good warrior one day herself, if that is a path she chooses, and she's gifted," Blood continued, keeping his tone low. "However, at least for now, she falls into that category of those who cannot fight for themselves. Do you not agree?"

Crossing his arms, the boy seemed to consider the idea.

The others were losing interest in the pursuit. Already two had begun to look around for something more interesting to do. They would be problems when they grew up, not bothered by morality and caring only for their own needs. Perhaps someone would beat some sense into them at some point or perhaps they would find someone worth caring for. Blood didn't care; they weren't his charges.

Reaching down, he offered a hand to the little orcess—while he had asked after Saphon and the boys by name on a few times, he had never learned his daughter's. They had decided that they would wait until she was born to give her a proper name. His tour should have brought him home with a week or two to spend with his family, debating possibilities. If only he'd made it home.

She didn't take his hand, but did release his leg. He knelt down. When he spoke to her, his voice was gentler, though those damnable undertones were still present, making his words harsher than he intended. "Tell me, why do they chase you?"

Reaching up, she twisted one of her dog ears, pulling on the strands of hair and picking at their ends. A habit she'd picked up from Saphon.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so low that Blood could barely hear her. "I said—"

"She said her father was better than mine," the leader of the pack hissed. For a moment, his collected demeanor evaporated and rage twisted his features. "Her father isn't even here! He ran off years ago!"

Blood couldn't help but flinch at the child's words.

"He died a hero!" the little girl screamed. She started to run toward the group, snarling, but Blood carefully caught her by her shoulder to stop her.

Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a strange pride stir in his dead heart. He'd always feared the burden he had left on his family, but to hear his littlest one, the one he'd never gotten to hold or tell stories to, defend him so…

"It's good to be proud," Blood whispered to her, almost forgetting their audience completely, "but you should never let it become such that you let it blind you." When she looked at him, ready to object, he thumped a plated fist against his chest. The metal clanged. "That's what got me killed." He heard a shuffle and looked at the other children, shrugging. "I thought I could take on thirty ghouls myself. It turns out I could only take on twenty-seven."

Rising back to his feet, he rolled one shoulder and then the other. Suddenly his armor felt heavy. Or perhaps it was just all the intent stares. "My point is, be proud, but don't be so proud that you bite off more than you can chew. And don't declare someone else inferior. You might realize too late that you weren't as strong as you thought." He paused before adding, "Your father may have died a hero, but that doesn't make him any better than those warriors who still fight, or those who weld the armor for those warriors. It doesn't make him any better than the peons who carry the wood to build these houses." He patted her head. "Be proud, not arrogant."

The little orcess stood in the street, staring up at him for a long, quiet while before she finally turned toward the others. She stepped up to the boy with the scar. "Sorry."

He set his jaw, his small tusks protruding a little more than usual as he digested her word. Finally, he gave her a single nod. "Just…don't say it again."

With that, he turned to leave. However, he paused, half turned, to give Blood a thump to his chest in salute. A few of the other children followed suit, and then they darted off down the street.

Even as Blood stood there, staring after the children, after the world that he'd lost, he felt something tug on his pinky. Frowning, he found his little girl had wrapped her fingers around his and was staring up at him expectantly. He stilled.

There was no way she could know. She'd never even seen him in life…

"I dunno how to get home."

Letting out a bark of a laugh that made the girl jump, he shook his head before apologizing for scaring her. "That makes two of us, I'm afraid." When she stared at him, puzzled, he shifted his weight a little, though it wasn't enough that his hand would slip out of her reach. "Do you know any landmarks to help us find our way?"

Biting her lip—another habit of Saphon's—she thought for a moment before nodding, her dog ears bouncing from the motion. Expression resolute, she tugged him down the street, her heels barely ahead of the toe of his boot. He took care not to scuff her foot.

After turning down two dead ends, she finally led him to a street he recognized. Perking up a little, he hastened his stride, taking the lead. However, even as he drew near the home, one of the neighbors—an orc he was sure he'd known years ago—saw them and paled a little.

The orc quickly started toward them, and the look on his face broke whatever simple magic Blood had found. He wasn't a father taking his little girl home. He was a death knight wandering around with a small child.

It was amazing people hadn't intervened already.

He stopped in place, and the little girl let out a squeak as her fingers slid off of his. She looked back at him, bewildered. As the other orc stopped next to them, Blood nodded toward the man, suddenly afraid that his voice would sound too familiar.

"I was just helping the little one get home."

The orc didn't even try to be polite. "Well, you've done your part."

As though the spirits were truly displeased with him, he suddenly heard a voice which made him suck in an unnecessary breath.

"Rahkras! Where've you been?"

Two orcish boys jogged over, the younger doubling over and planting his palms against his thighs as he breathed heavily. The older boy, the one who had called her, gripped her hand, anger on his features. "You can't just run off by yourself!" Even as he started to chastise her, the chill in the air around them sent goose bumps across his skin. He turned and stared up at Blood, going completely rigid.

Picking up on it the same time as Blood, the neighbor moved in between him and the children. "It's time for you to go."

Blood couldn't help a growl, though he quickly followed it with a nod. Disregarding the grown orc, he nodded toward his little girl—Rahkras—and then looked at his boys. "Sorn'Rul, Zasam, take better care of your sister." He thumped his chest and then turned back the way they'd come, suddenly thankful for those dead ends earlier.

As soon as he reached the first one, he turned down it. Even if his neighbor came to check on him, to make sure he wasn't lurking about unwanted, he'd already be back where he belonged.

The death gate's energies crackled across his skin as he stepped through it. He shuddered, a puff of air accompanying his sigh. Then, affording himself little time to think on what had just happened, he strode into the hold.

It was easy to find Leafless. She'd always enjoyed the breezes from the higher levels of their necropolis. As he stepped out onto the top level, he saw that she was sharpening one of her blades. She paused to look up at him before returning to her work. "Where's Gobber?"

He groaned, taking his helm off and tucking it under an arm as he walked toward his friend. "Still in Orgrimmar. At least he's in the guild hall."

"You'd best hope he doesn't go looking for you." Leafless didn't sound overly concerned, though she pressed her sharpening stone down a bit harder and sparks flew from the blade. She cursed and inspected the edge to make sure she hadn't damaged it.

"Worst case, he'll fall apart, and I'll have to reanimate him again."

"Or you could just get a new ghoul."

"Gobber's been with me since…by the void, he's been with me since I was first raised. I can't just discard him."

"For a death knight, you're rather sentimental, you know that?" For the first time, Leafless broke out into a half smile. It was short lived. "I take it you're here on someone's behalf?"

"Only my own," Blood trotted over and dropped down to sit with her, placing his helmet on the ground beside him and hefting his own blade over his shoulder. He set it down as he rummaged through his bag for his own sharpening stone. When he found it, he lifted his large sword to begin tending to it, but paused to admire the runes carved along its surface. It was a point of pride that they were so perfectly done.

Leafless' were neater. She'd thrown away twelve blades, melting them down and then re-forging them until she was finally satisfied that she'd made perfection.

"Do you think...do you think we're all monsters to someone?"

Blood arched his brow, the action pulling at his taunt skin. The right side of his face sagged loosely, and it moved awkwardly over his muscles. His split lip threatened to split further as he laughed. "Have you seen the way the guards look at us? I think that answers that question—"

"I don't mean people who don't know us," Leafless snapped. She went back to sharpening her sword before continuing. "I mean on a personal level. The people we've hurt. Do you think there's anything we can do to be forgiven?"

"If this is about Shadow—"

"I spoke with Bloodsworn."

Blood sucked in a sharp breath and nearly dropped his sword down the side of the necropolis. The runes pulsed in displeasure, knowing how close they were to losing touch with their master. "Why in the nether would you do something so stupid? The man attacked Orgrimmar!"

"Only Liila said that," Leafless mumbled. She rested her weapon across her legs, her hoofs hanging off the ledge she'd seated herself beside. "No one else could name the death knight working for our master."

"Former master," Blood snapped, too quickly. Leafless gave him a nonplussed look. "And there's a difference between what we did and what he did."

"Is there really?"

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. He could only vaguely remember the atrocities he'd committed while under the Lich King's will. However, he could still hear the screams of pain and some small part of him reveled in it. He shuddered. "We know what we did. We—"

"He knows what he did to Liila was wrong."

"But does he actually regret it?" Blood asked, stern. He stood back up, resting his weapon against his shoulder. "The man's a sociopath. There's a difference. We wish we could change the past. He doesn't."

"And how do you know that?" With a tilt of her head, Leafless rose up as well, her blade making a soft 'shhhk' as she put it in its scabbard. She rested her hands on the pommels at her hips. "Because Liila told you?" She motioned out toward the world beyond their vantage point. "Think of all the people we tortured. If one of them got away, wouldn’t they speak just as ill of us? There could be entire guilds out there who have promised a traumatized friend that, should they ever find us, we will be put to the blade and brought to justice."

"Then let them do it!" Blood snapped. He held his arms out. "I know I didn't torture the same person for months upon months, but if there is someone who can stand before me and tell me that they know I was their tormentor, I will accept their justice. There is no honor in taking that away from them. Until then, I will make my amends to the dead and the damned."

Even as Leafless stared at him, jaw slack and glowing eyes wide, a dry chuckle interrupted their conversation and a squeaky—albeit still accompanied by hellish tones—voice followed. "That's an orc for you. Always going on about honor, even when they're literally rotten to the core."

"Kisses," Blood muttered. He didn't need to look to know that it was that idiot, sadist gnome, no doubt riding atop her ghoul. The wench acted like using her own damn legs would be some great travesty. However, as he felt her eyes upon him, he afforded her an annoyed glare. "Now is not the time for your—"

His voice cut off.

Sure enough, Kisses sat atop her ghoul, drumming her fingers calmly against its decomposing head as she stared evenly at Blood. There was a slight twist of a smirk on her features too, that normally would have left Blood threatening to punt her off the side of the necropolis.

However, he could hardly pay attention to her. Rather, standing at her side was an orcish boy he would have recognized anywhere. It was his oldest son, Sorn'Rul.

Blood's lips moved wordlessly. The boy shouldn't have been there. How had he even…? Had he followed him through his death gate? He hadn't considered that one of the children would follow after him. Why hadn't anyone stopped him? Why hadn't his neighbor?

Kisses cracked her neck one way and then the other, the action sounding sickening, even to Blood. His boy shuddered and glanced nervously up at the gnome before looking back at his father.

With a bored wave, Kisses kicked her ghoul's shoulders, and it began to shamble back toward the ramp leading into the lower areas. "The highlord would like to remind you that this is not exactly the…safest place for children." The boy started to object, but Kisses ignored him, calling the last part of her warning out as she disappeared down the slope. "We may recognize that they aren't edible, but the ghouls and geists don't."

For a moment, the three of them were completely silent. Finally, Leafless shifted her weight, no doubt uncomfortable to be infringing on this personal moment. Blood summoned the air to speak across his rotten windpipes. "Boy, you shouldn't be here."

"Dad."

Blood felt like he was being torn into by those ghouls all over again.

"You _are_ Thalach Battlecleaver." Sorn'Rul's voice sounded uncertain now. He started to take a step toward them, but stopped.

It would be so easy to say no. To say the boy was mistaken and to send him home. It would be far better for him to know his father died in a glorious battle, the story that Saphon must have told them. It would be so much better…

"You knew our names," Sorn'Rul whispered. His resolve returned, and he marched across the distance between them, stopping in front of his father and staring up at him. He cringed a little as he met Blood's brilliant blue gaze, and then reached up and touched him on the side of his face that was still mostly intact. "And I remember you."

Blood lightly took his son's hand and pulled it away from him. "Don't do this to yourself. I'll find someone to take you home. I'll—" He remembered his guild stone and pulled it out, tapping through the options to find Enlyhn. No doubt the warlock would demand some sort of compensation, but he'd pay it, whatever it was. Sorn'Rul didn't deserve to be trapped in this place, and his family didn't deserve to wonder where he was like they would have to if he took a flight back to the Undercity and then the zeppelin across the sea. Ancestors mercy, that'd keep him away from home for over a month.

"I'll go back," the boy said, almost angry, "but not until…" He trailed off. He obviously hadn't thought much about his plan. For a moment he stood there, lips forming a thin line, punctuated angrily by his tusks. Finally, he crossed his arms. "You didn't let Rahkras say thank you. She's upset."

"Don't tell her who I am," Blood blurted before he could stop himself.

Sorn'Rul took a step back, surprised. "What? Why?"

"Honestly?" Leafless muttered. She snapped her mouth shut when Blood gave her a harsh look. She gave the two a curt bow and gathered her things. "I have quite a bit to get done, so if you'll excuse me."

She hadn't even made it to the ramp when Blood finally frowned and crossed his arms. His helm glinted near his feet, and he considered putting it on, but the damage had already been done. "She's proud of her father. Perhaps it's selfish, but I'd like her to stay that way. No one should grow up ashamed of their parents."

"Ashamed?" Sorn'Rul leaned his head forward, disbelief plain on his features. He gaped at Blood for a moment before shaking his head. "You were one of the youngest warriors to ever rise up in the ranks so quickly. You're still one of the youngest—"

"That orc is dead," Blood rumbled, his frown deepening. He felt his lip tug, threatening to split worse.

"How many orcs—how many of any race can say that their father devoted not one, but _two_ lives for their people?" He looked hurt as he added, "You could have come home, though."

Blood's brow shot up, and he met his son's earnest gaze, not knowing what to say. "You…" It occurred to him that they wouldn't know. There had been no survivors, so no one knew how he had led his men into a slaughter. How there had been no honor in being torn apart and added to the ranks of the enemy. To the people back in Orgrimmar, perhaps he really had died a hero. Guilt curled in his gut. "It's more complicated than that."

With a scoff that reminded Blood of the way he'd dismissed his own men as weak—they'd had true strength, able to put words to their concern, and to a commanding officer at that—when they'd suggested that they wait to engage the Scourge's outpost, Sorn'Rul shook his head. "Are you saying you _don't_ serve the Horde any longer?"

"I will always be a member of the Horde," Blood growled.

Rather than jump at the sound of those hateful undertones, Sorn'Rul smirked. There was that cocky arrogance again. "My father isn't anything to be ashamed of. Zasam knows it, Rahkras knows it. Mom knows it, too." His smile slipped, and he reached toward Blood again. "They should know that you're alive."

With a heavy sigh, Blood finally knelt in front of the boy. Sorn'Rul looked almost offended at the action, but Blood ignored it. He motioned to himself. "But I'm not." He finally reached down for his helm and rested it on his knee. "I wanted you to remember the strong, healthy orc who carried you on his shoulders. Not a rotting corpse." He hesitated, thinking back to those hazy memories. "I was handsome, too. I never thought I cared about my looks until…" he let out a dry, rasping laugh. "I'd like your mother to keep who I was in her memories. Not this."

"She wouldn't care."

"She might not, but I do." Blood narrowed his eyes, peering into his son's. "I've no right to ask anything of you, but I have to. Don't tell them, alright?" Sorn'Rul didn't answer. Instead, he stood there, tears brimming around his eyes. "Go ahead and cry."

"I'm not that weak."

Rising to his feet, Blood motioned toward the necropolis. "These old stones have seen more tears than you'll ever know, from people much stronger than you may ever be." His son's lip quivered. "They've even seen a few of mine. When you're done, I'll take you home."

As if permission was all he'd really needed, the boy's head bowed forward and half strangled, hiccupped sobs escaped him. Blood rested his hand on his son's shoulder and let him cry, for all that he'd lost and for the father he'd never have.


	31. Waiting Game

Lash's pants were coated with a layer of dirt and sweat. Even as they'd flown over Mulgore, he and the orcess had been able to see the tiny black dots of the Alliance raid sweeping over the plains below. It had been little comfort that their path had taken them around Bloodhoof Village rather than through it. Lash considered that they were probably hoping to go unnoticed until they were up the elevators.

It had seemed odd that they would go after Thunder Bluff at all, in Lash's mind. Aside from the fact that it was well established that the tauren were easily the most peaceful race of the Horde, it seemed to be one of the best fortified cities that Lash could think of. Granted, he didn't know too much about the Alliance cities—it seemed like Darnasus would be equally painful to raid. All in all, it just seemed like it would be counterproductive. They would surely be cut down as they tried to enter the city.

He had truly been puzzled until, when they were mere hours away from Thunder Bluff, he'd looked back to see that the Alliance raid had turned around. The briefest glimmer of hope that they had realized their folly faded when he saw that rather than retreating, they were headed back toward Bloodhoof Village. They'd wound around so that when they did hit the village, no one would be able to run to Thunder Bluff to warn them.

While Lash had been—albeit briefly—relieved, Kiaga had not. However, any knowledge she might have had on the matter was lost to the wind, and Lash wondered absentmindedly if he'd be able to convince Mitchell to make her a communication stone. Would she even want one?

It seemed a bit silly to want to give someone he barely knew a stone, but then…there was just something about her.

Her windrider landed about a minute before his and instantly she was running to the guard. When the whoosh of wind and flap of wings subsided, Lash heard the guard reassuring her as he unbound Duskeh from the back of his mount.

"We appreciate you coming to warn us, but we can see almost all of Mulgore from up here. We saw them coming and already sent reinforcements to Bloodhoof."

"What about the elevators?" Kiaga insisted. "Are they still guarded?"

"No," the brave's voice was thick with sarcasm. "We sent all the guards away and didn't bother to keep enough people to guard our only weakness." He gave them both a gentle smile. "Again, we appreciate your warning, but we have things under control."

"Well," Kiaga started, though she saw that the tauren didn't look like he wanted to continue the conversation and faltered.

"Were you hit by the undead earlier?" Lash inserted himself into the conversation.

"They didn't hit us nearly as hard as some of the other settlements, but yes."

Lash nodded. "Would you mind if we helped out around here?" When Kiaga looked dismayed, he shrugged. "We likely wouldn't get to Bloodhoof in time to fight, so we might as well help here." He tried to convey a meaningful look to her, but she merely looked puzzled. However, she did nod and follow his lead, down into the city. As they went, she matched his stride.

"Did that seem like the right amount of Alliance to you? When they attacked the village?"

Lash shrugged. "Perhaps they lost their numbers in the Barrens?"

"Nice as that would be, these dogs aren't that weak." She shook her head. "There is a whole chunk of them missing. I'm sure of it."

Pondering this, Lash frowned. "Well, still. We'd see them coming from up here, wouldn't we?"

"Alchemists have potions that can fix that, don't they?"

"Maybe…" Lash perked up and lightly thwacked her arm. She seemed slightly jarred by the familiarity, but followed none the less when he slipped behind one of the few wooden buildings, so that he'd be out of sight of any prying eyes. He pulled out his guild stone and sent off a message. It was the first one that had gone to everyone in the guild since the spy scare and it was as though everyone had simply been waiting for someone else to take that first leap of faith.

At first, the air was still, with just his own message—the alchemy question—hovering in the air. Kiaga eyed it and frowned. "Are you asking the spirits?"

"Not quite."

Even as he spoke, the air bloomed to life with green text.

Cinder – Nature's grace! Is that Lash? Lashy Lash! I miss you! I'm back!

Mitchell – No one cares. Shut up.

Whisper – Invisibility potion.

Genji – Invisibility potion.

Haa'aji – Be a rogue.

Roberts – What he said.

Wrachette – You're morons. And watcha need to be invisible for?

Howl - …So is it delivered?

The last message was personal and glimmered a soft purple. He ignored it, thankful that an argument between Sprocket, Haa'aji, and Cloudless sent the message scrolling up quickly. He hoped Kiaga hadn't seen it.

Lash – Don't most invisibility potions wear off fairly quickly, though? Are there any that can last for days?

Haa'aji – Be a rogue.

Sethyl – It is amazing how much more coherent you are when you write.

Haa'aji – Racist.

Liila – There are ways to augment the potion to elongate the effect, but if you want to disappear for days, it would be better to get a spell from a mage.

Haa'aji – I am always coherent. It's not _my_ fault your flimsy elf ears can't translate properly.

Gore – Haa'aji.

Gregor – Haa'aji, no.

Sham – I will have Mitchell turn off your stone.

Haa'aji – Tyranny!

As the conversation again broke down into squabbling, a purple wall of text appeared in front of him. At first he was afraid it was Howl again, but instead, it was Genji. The arcane mage had actually scrawled out an entire spell for becoming invisible, along with directions on where to alter it to adjust the time and number of people affected. Lash felt breath on his shoulder and glanced to his side to see Kiaga was leaning up on her toes, peering over his shoulder to get a better view.

"This is amazing."

Lash grinned a little. "I might be able to get you one."

"Everyone in the Horde should have one," she murmured, the light from the words reflecting hungrily in her eyes.

Lash shifted a little. "Yes, well. Back to the Alliance." She blinked from her reverie and stepped back to give him space. "How many do you think are missing?"

"First, I…I know a good amount of common," she began, pacing in front of him slowly. "There were over fifty Alliance in Rachet, and they were talking about meeting at least twice as many coming from Theramore." She pointed in the general direction of the village. "I don't think there were even eighty of them there. That means that half are unaccounted for."

"Assuming they did come the same way and aren't headed for Orgrimmar or another settlement, that means half of the raid is coming here."

Kiaga nodded. "If they're staying far enough away to avoid being detected, then they probably won't reach us until tonight at earliest, assuming they've kept a brisk pace."

"Well, with the tauren expecting us to help with repairs, why don't we find a way to help near the elevators? Then we can call the alarm quickly if there really is an attack."

Lash felt a little like Gore as he ran through his plan. Kiaga eyed him a moment and then shrugged. "Fine. I will guard the back entrance, if you'll take the front."

Offering her his hand, the shook once, firmly.

Over the next few days, Lash threw himself into fixing vendors' stalls and houses that had been damaged by the Scourge's attack. The tauren had already taken care of most of it, and so at the end of the third day, there was nothing left to do.

Lash considered going to see how Kiaga was doing—he'd felt obligated to remain at his post, though he had convinced Whisper to go check on her a few times—but he didn't want her to be disappointed or think that he didn't take her concerns seriously. He couldn't place why her opinions were so important to him, but somehow, they were. He'd just taken to patrolling the area with Duskeh when he saw a few of the braves near the elevator. They were helping the injured coming back from Bloodhoof Village.

Lash wandered over and stood near the end of the platform. When one of the tauren looked at him inquisitively, he motioned to them. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"If you could run ahead to the Spirit Rise and tell them to have thirty beds set up, that would be great."

"Thirty even?"

"That should be an extra or two, in case we miscounted or they decide it's safe to move someone else and send them up in the next day."

Lash tensed. "Was the fighting that bad?"

The brave gave him a grim nod. "We were able to protect the weak, but there were too many casualties. Thirteen too many."

"They died well," Lash murmured, thumping his chest in a salute.

However, as he hurried off, the wind carried two voices to him that made him feel sick.

"There is no dying well."

"Hush, he was being respectful. You know how orcs are."

~"~

Cloudless closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, though he instantly regretted it. The rot of this place was in the air, and it coated his lungs, making him stumble forward and cough. As he tried to rid himself of that horrid taint, Genji threw a firebolt into the air, scowling.

It just barely missed a flaming hoof as a spectral horse ran through the air in circles over them. Liila and Wrachette stood beside Cloudless, though only Wrachette was still watching the taunting display overhead. Angrily, she crossed her arms and shouted, "Haa'aji, come down here, ya jerk!"

"Neva!" The rogue cackled gleefully as he finally turned the headless horseman's mount the other way, only to settle into a circle going the other direction. "Ah neva gonna give up mah Cloppeteh!"

Genji ran his hand down his face, stopping his fingers just below his eyes so that he could stare up at Haa'aji, fickle. "Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' meh, mon. Ah taught we been hea ta get Liila a new mount."

With a weathered sigh, Liila's shoulders slumped. "We were."

~"~

Roberts tore the shirt he'd liberated from the Gilnean clothing line and tried to use it to tie his leg back on at the knee. However, without a way to reattach the ligaments, he didn't see how he was going to be able to walk, much less move around in stealth. The ball of cloth around his knee was enough to keep the actual appendage in place, but there would be no bending it.

A howl sounded in the distance. Several others returned the noise.

While he didn't speak dog, he had a feeling that they were looking for him. Unless some new fool had found his way beyond the gate.

However, none of the creatures sounded too close, and he could say with certainty that the former inhabitants of the house he was hiding in wouldn't be running to alert anyone—guards or worgen.

The information he'd gathered would have to be enough for now. The worgen curse was decimating Gilneas. He doubted it would be long before the citizens were either all cursed, or all dead.

When he'd first come through, seeking to see if the plague had ever breached the giant walls closing off the area, he'd seen no reason to fear the worgen. They were little more than animals, like the creatures Arugal had ruled over. His priority hadn't been those mangy creatures.

Now, it was.

The Banshee Queen had wanted to know if they might be capable of organizing, of becoming more than just the occasional countryside terror.

Roberts had hoped that this mission would be a quick one. That he would lead the creatures around in a few circles, prove that they were nothing more than animals, and then head back to help with guild preparations for once.

Unfortunately, they'd been the ones to lead him around. They'd been able to plan a proper ambush, and now they were hunting him for sport, he suspected. If they'd been serious, he'd likely be dead by now.

Rubbing his hands against his face—a habit from living, as the action did nothing to get blood flowing in his dead flesh—he sighed and considered whether he'd be able to get out of there without assistance. He considered it, considered those damnable creatures and their acute sense of smell, and tested his leg. It wobbled unsteadily beneath him, and he let himself fall back into the chair he was resting in.

With a ragged, sigh, he hoped that the worgen couldn't sense magic, and pulled out his guild stone.

~"~

Lash had just finished helping roll out bed mats and was heading back toward the front elevator when Duskeh abruptly tensed and hunched low to the ground. Lash's bow was in his hands in a breath, an arrow notched. The cat's ears were pricked, and Lash strained his own to hear as well. Duskeh abruptly spun around and lashed out, its claws tearing into flesh.

A gnome let out a wail as he was dragged out of stealth. Sending an arrow into the little creature, Lash pivoted and dashed along the outer pathway on the central rise. He was nearly to the main merchants' commons, could see the flicker of the evening flames, when something caught him on the side of the head. Narrowly catching himself on the sloping earth before he could be knocked off the great plateau, he took in a deep breath and bellowed as loudly as he could. "The Alliance are here!"


	32. Nothing is Chance

Margaret dusted a few of the shelves around the shop with a rag that looked about as weathered as she did. Whisper had just bought it before she'd gone to Thunder Bluff, and the forsaken didn't doubt that her hooved friend would be irritated that her belongings were already getting worn down.

It really wasn't her fault, though. It was the way her damned finger bones poked out that did the damage. One might think that after all these years of having sharpened talons for fingers, a corpse would get used to being gentler. It wasn't so. Her fingers had poked holes into that little cloth each time she gripped it, no matter how delicate her attempt.

Or had it always been this way?

Sometimes it was hard to remember little details from her past, and Margaret had a growing fear that soon she would be one of those lifeless husks meandering along, waiting to fall apart.

Shaking off the depressing notion, Margaret wondered if perhaps she should ask Mitchell to make a new dust rag. He often took advantage of his eerie appendages, using his fingers as pins to keep his seams in place as he worked the fabric into the intricately embroidered robes and bags he made.

Since his expulsion from the Undercity, Mitchell spent most of his days either with Gregor and Timmons or—when he couldn't stand living in Gregor's hovel—in the guild hall, throwing himself into 'little' tasks that could give his ever working mind a bit of a rest from the conundrum of the curse or spell or whatever it was that had jumpstarted Gregor and Timmons' hearts.

This was one of those mornings.

It was well enough. Blood had left Gobber behind, and the poor ghoul was lonely in his corner of the guild hall, watching the others come and go with a listlessness that made Margaret shiver. Mitchell and Liila had a tendency to treat the ghoul like a lost puppy, letting it sit at the table with them and occasionally patting the creature's arm or head.

It seemed to need the reassurance, almost as though it thought—could it think?—that Blood had abandoned it. Liila had mentioned once, long ago, that death knights' pets had strange bonds with their masters. Margaret had, in poor taste, asked if Liila felt some strange connection to Bloodsworn, and the little elf had never mentioned it again.

That had been back when Margaret had been angrier about her situation, back when her tongue had been sharper, and she'd accurately been dubbed Frostheart.

Joining Impervious had certainly mellowed her out.

Perhaps a bit too much.

She frowned again as she heard heavy boots thud against the floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Blood halfway to the back door. He paused to nod to her.

"I was just thinking about you, you cuddly bag of bones!" Margaret called out, a half grin in place as she waved. The rag caught on one of her fingers and practically tore in half.

Blood merely grunted in response. He was already walking again as he motioned toward the door. "Gobber's still here?"

"He is," Margaret replied, crossing her arms.

"Good."

With that the orc disappeared down the hall.

Margaret narrowed her glowing eyes and scoffed. Realizing that she'd effectively turned her rag into even more of a scrap than it was supposed to be, she supposed now was as good a time as any to go down and talk to Mitchell. He'd probably need a shoulder to whine on after Blood took Gobber back, anyway.

As she wandered down the narrow way toward the guild hall, she heard Blood snap.

"Why in the nether is _my_ ghoul acting like a damn clothing rack?"

Some gurgling accompanied Mitchell's objections that Gobber just wanted to feel like he was part of the guild.

"He's not a part of the damned guild! He's a pet! A corpse farther gone than you! If I felt like it, I'd get rid of him and replace him with something new every day!"

Margaret stopped in the doorway. Gobber's shoulders were slumped, and he looked like he might understand what was being said after all, though likely it was just his master's tone that he was responding to. A sudden chill ran up her spine as Margaret wondered if there still _was_ a person in that rotten husk. How nightmarish an existence would that be?

Mitchell hugged the corpse, defending it like one would a puppy that had chewed up something expensive. "You be nice to him or else!"

"Or else what?" Blood hissed, stepping around the table to tower over the spindly mage. Even as fear flickered across Mitchell's face and Margaret readied a frost bolt, Blood's shoulders slumped. He stepped away from Mitchell and let himself thud down into one of the chairs near them. "I'm sorry." He set his helm on the table and ran a hand over his face. "Have you ever had one of those days where everything that could go wrong went wrong?"

Mitchell motioned to himself, still a little jittery. "I think it's obvious that I had at least one of those."

Blood let out a bitter laugh. "Of course…well, I'm having one of those weeks." He slouched into the chair further.

However, even as Mitchell prompted him to explain, quietly draping a few bolts of cloth across Gobber's shoulders as the death knight stared miserably at his helmet, Margaret heard footsteps. Turning her head, she froze when she saw an orcess halfway down the hall.

Twirling on her toes, she hurried up to her, stopping squarely in front of her. "Good day to you, ma'am. I'm afraid all of our sales' items are back in the main room. If you're looking for something in particular, I can—"

"My son…he saw a tauren death knight with this symbol on her tabard." She dug a small paper out from the band of her beaded robe and held it out to Margaret. It was Impervious' guild crest. "I asked around, and people said that this guild frequents here?"

Margaret handed the note back to her and crossed her arms, straightening out of her typical slouch to stand almost eye level with the orcess. Wrinkles were just beginning to mark her features around her eyes. "Sounds like you're talking about Leafless, but she hasn't been back in Orgrimmar for a few weeks. If there was a problem with her, though, I can take the details—upstairs."

"It's not her that I'm here about, actually. My son, he met his father," the orcess hesitated, searching Margaret's face for any signs that she'd heard about this. The forsaken stared back at her blankly. "His father is a death knight, I think? And this tauren was in his guild."

Margaret's eyes widened slowly as who the orcess was finally sunk in. "I, uh…" She took a step back and then thought better of it and pointed toward the shop overhead. "Why don't you wait upstairs a moment? I just need to grab some things from the…uh…stockroom. Then I'll be up, and we can talk."

The orcess looked ready to argue, but nodded slowly. She scratched one of her ears, half turning before she stopped. "But you do know who I speak of? If there are no orcish death knights in your guild, I won't waste your—"

"It's not that simple!" Blood roared from the guild hall.

The orcess completely forgot about compliance or being polite. Instead, she shot down the hall, maneuvering past Margaret with such speed that by the time the mage thought to cast a frost nova, she was already out of range and turning into the guild hall. Margaret raced after her, cursing under her breath.

"Thalach?"

Her voice rang out, heralding an eerie silence within the room, made all the stranger as her breathing alone punctuated the silence.

Finally, it was Mitchell who broke the silence. He glanced from the orcess to Blood and back before carefully untangling his bolts of cloth from Gobber and stepping around the far side of the table. "So. I'll just…leave you to…whatever this is."

Blood didn't even look at him, his eyes ever focused on the intruder. Just as Mitchell was slipping past Margaret into the hall, he let out a low whisper, "Saphon. It's been…a long time."

It was as though something snapped inside of their visitor with those words. She let out bestial roar and charged at Blood, her fists pounding onto his breastplate as he stumbled up. Even as Mitchell whirled around to see what was happening and Margaret readied another frost spell, Gobber lurched over the table, his talon-like fingers ready to tear into his master's attacker.

Blood caught the ghoul's movements from the edge of his vision, and with a rough motion, he gripped Saphon's arm in one hand and jerked her to one side. At the same time, he reached out and caught Gobber by his rotting shoulder, his plated fingers biting into the creature's flesh. Gobber let out a wail and cowered, staring up at Blood, helpless.

"Go to your corner."

The ghoul hesitated as Blood released it, giving Saphon a withering look. Margaret was a bit taken aback by the amount of bile in the creature's reaction. It didn't like that its master had chosen someone other than him. The ghoul shuffled away, looking at Margaret and Mitchell with such contempt…

When it had reached its darkened corner, Blood turned to his wife, a frown firmly in place. He seemed to have forgotten about Margaret and Mitchell altogether. "Sorn'Rul told you."

"He did." Saphon said in a slow exhale. She held Blood's gaze, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and horror and…relief. As Blood's distorted visage twisted in anger, Saphon pulled her arm free from him. He hadn't left so much as a bruise on her. "Before you go blaming him for breaking a _stupid promise_ ," she emphasized the last words with an animated scowl, "when I heard that he'd gone running through some magic gate after a death knight, I nearly went into a blood frenzy! He was a smart boy to say he recognized his father."

Blood's anger dissipated slowly, a tension he hadn't even realized was there leaving his shoulders. He stared at the floor between them. "I should have been more careful."

"Careful?" Saphon let out a derisive snort. "By the ancestors, when have you _ever_ been careful?" She crossed her arms. "I bet that's what caused this." With one hand she motioned to him.

"I was an arrogant fool," Blood murmured. His busted lips pulled into a faint smile. "You always said it would catch up to me one day."

"I'm sorry that it did."

He fidgeted, suddenly surprisingly self-conscious. "I didn't just abandon you. I've sent money—"

"I know," Saphon sighed. She looked around the room, pausing when her gaze landed on Gobber. The ghoul was glaring at her from its corner. She shivered a little before squaring her shoulders and looking back at Blood. "I hired a rogue to find out who was sending me the coin." Even as Blood's brow shot together, she shrugged, "And before you get defensive, even though I offered to pay him, he wouldn't accept any money. I do think he stole one of my earrings, though."

"What did this rogue look like?"

"No reason to hunt him down."

"I won't. I just…what did he look like?"

"A troll. Really big and green, but able to disappear into a crowd like you wouldn't believe…." Saphon smiled faintly. "It was good to know that you were watching over us, even if you didn't have the backbone to come home." She hesitated, eyeing him with a critical gaze. "I knew…there would be a reason for it."

Margaret tugged on Mitchell's shoulder as Blood glanced at them and then lowered his voice. It wasn't until they were up in the shop again that she finally sighed, the noise a weathered, defeated hiss. "Why does it seem that every race aside from humans are more accepting of the dead?"

Haphazardly folding his cloth and shoving it into his bags, Mitchell shrugged. "I dunno. I know a lot of orcs who freak out when Blood walks by. I think we helped desensitize them to the death knights, though. Hard to be afraid of corpses when you're allied to a bunch."

"Hmm…" Margaret lifted her hand to run her fingers through her hair and paused when she realized that her fingers had gotten caught in her rag. She'd punched holes all through it while she was listening to Blood and his wife. Somehow, the thread had bunched up all around two of her fingers and practically bound them together.

In a second, Mitchell was next to her, helping her untangle herself. "Are you stressing out about something?" His high voice was more nasally, poorly concealed panic fringing it.

"Not stressed, just tired," Margaret murmured. She laughed when he looked up at her. "I guess I've just been wondering what the point of going on like this is. Just because some people accept others like us…it won't mean the ones I want to will."

"You don't need them," Mitchell snapped. He tried to straighten up, though he only lasted a few seconds before falling back into his slouch. "Screw the living!" He paused. "Well, the living humans. We have Impervious! And the Horde!"

With a laugh, Margaret reached out and patted Mitchell on the side of his head, so that she wouldn't mess up his Mohawk. "You're a good boy, Mitch."

He took in a frustrated, rattling breath. "People love you, Margaret. Don't dismiss that." Going rigid, he finished freeing her hand and shoved the tattered mess into his bags. "I need to get back to work."

"Why you would want to keep working for the Society when they banned you from our city is beyond—"

"It's not for them." He paused, perking up a little. He'd already been halfway to the door, but he pivoted and strode back up to her. Mitchell clasped her hands, a wide grin stretching his taunt skin. "Come with me to Gregor's. I wanna explain something."

"I can't just leave the shop—"

Mitchell held up a finger and darted down the passage to the guild hall. In a second, he was back, his boyish grin returned thrice over. "Blood'll cover the shop."

"That doesn't sound like a good idea—" Margaret glanced toward the back door, wondering just how receptive the death knight could have actually been to that. Besides, he was having a moment with his living, breathing wife, wasn't he? No need to interrupt that for some silly excursion.

"Well, he can message someone if it's too hard." He laced his boney fingers with hers and started to drag her toward the door. "C'mon. It's important."

"How about _I_ call for someone, and we wait for them? There's no hurry."

~"~

Mitchell kept glancing at Margaret as they walked, giddy. She knew something was up, but it was alright. The hardest thing to do at the moment was to keep the secret until Gregor and Timmons were in front of them. Then he'd explain to her how it had been his doing, not some curse, that had made their hearts start back up. She wouldn't talk like this anymore if she knew there was hope.

He could see it all in his head. He'd display Gregor and Timmons—not that they'd want him to, but they could get over that—and then he'd explain what he'd done. He'd show her his progress and promise to have her heart beating within…

With a frown, he picked up his pace. He didn't want to promise anything too early and disappoint her. But promising something a few years down the line could be just as torturous.

Just as he was debating whether a promise of two years would be too long and was indeed a practical expectation, the sound of an explosion triggering not too far from them shattered his concentration.

In a breath, both he and Margaret were running toward the noise, and his heart sunk as each step lead them in the same direction as Gregor's home. They turned the last bend and both blinked forward in unison, panic rising in them.

It had indeed been Gregor's home that went up in flames. Sprinting and nearly tripping on his robes twice, Mitchell ran head first into the door, ignoring the smoke that billowed all around him. He couldn't let them die.

And he couldn't let his notes be destroyed.

He felt a chill across his skin and saw frost overtaking the house rapidly, Margaret's doing, no doubt. He heard her call out, and Gregor answered from the left in the main room. That was good enough assurance for him.

Stumbling into the back room, Mitchell used his own frost spells to beat back the flames still licking the walls and furniture, scrambling to the desk where he'd been keeping his notes. The hovel had been a bit crowded with the three of them there, but Gregor had been oddly accommodating in turning his spare room—it wasn't like he'd needed to sleep—into a study for the young forsaken.

And now it was all burning.

He furiously fought against the fire, dowsing and clutching crisp parchment and half burned journals. Mitchell tried to remember when he'd last sent his notes to Rachet. It felt like it had been an eternity ago. How much progress would this set him back by?

The roof groaned menacingly, and Mitchell ducked out of the room, thinking to take what he'd gathered to safety and then go back for more. However, as he stumbled out of the building, he saw that Margaret had disappeared, and Gregor knelt beside Timmons, who was sprawled out on the ground. The warlock was covered in burns, far worse than anything Gregor had sustained, and lay gasping for breath.

Mitchell dropped everything and ran toward them, tumbling to his knees on the other side of the warlock. "Timmons? What in the nether happened here? Can you hear me?" He reached out to pat the warlock's cheek, but Gregor grabbed his hand.

"Don't aggravate the burns," Gregor snapped. He peered down the road and then checked his guild stone. "Where in the nether is everyone when you need them?"

Green text flooded the air between them before Gregor scrawled out a hurry and tucked the stone away. "Liila was nearby, getting a mount from Ogunaro. She should be here shortly. Hang on, Timmons."

The warlock's breathing worsened.

Mitchell thought through his spells and cast a light chill around Timmons, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. He peered down the street. "Where's Margaret?"

"She went to get Cinder from the store," Gregor murmured.

"What happened?"

"I don't know…" Gregor ran his hand down his face, stopping when it covered his nose and mouth. He shook his head. "There was someone at the door. Timmons recognized them, and he…he soul stoned _me_." He stared down at their battered guild mate. "Then there was just fire, everywhere."

"Who would do this?" Mitchell whispered, eyes wide enough that the edges of the empty sockets could be seen past his bindings. "Who—"

"We'll find out," Gregor said, though despite the grim resolve on his face, his voice wavered. "Timmons, just hang on until Liila or Cinder gets here. We'll get the bastard who did this."

Timmons breathing was calming down.

Mitchell smiled, thinking that his chill was helping. "And then you can set them on fi—"

"Mitchell!"

He rolled his eyes, looking up at his guild leader. "We both know he will."

Even as Gregor started to snap something about not giving Timmons ideas—like setting someone on fire would be a new one to any warlock—he glanced down and baulked. "Timmons?"

Mitchell's gaze followed his guild leader's, and he stiffened. Timmons wasn't breathing anymore. With a curse, he realized his error. He hadn't been calming down at all.

He'd been dying.

He jerked his stone out. "I'll get Blood or Enlyhn to come resurrect him before it's too late."

"They won't be able to get here in the next minute," Gregor whispered, reaching a hand down and slowly placing it on Timmons' shoulder. He didn't move. "We're too late."

"No…" Mitchell shook his head.

Gregor turned away from them as he heard someone hurrying up. Liila was riding toward them on an orcish worg. He cringed, suddenly thankful that his own steed was stabled away from his home. He waved to her, and her hair fluttered wildly around her as she honed in on them.

Not wanting to see the look on her face when she learned what became of Timmons, Mitchell looked down. He reached out to rest his hand on Timmons' chest, desperate to feel a faint heartbeat inside the charred cage.

However, before he could even touch him, something flickered into a bright glow beneath the warlock's robes. Mitchell's brow shot together, and he leaned forward, forgetting about feelings and fretting, his apothecary's mind wanting to know what was happening.

Lifting part of the charred robe, he saw several runes lighting up on various parts of Timmons' chest.

His expression blanked.

The runes flickered brighter, and the severity of the burns lessened, if only slightly.

And then Timmons took in a ragged gasp of air. Pained moans escaped his throat as he came to, and he writhed, only to quiet as light washed over him, mending the rest of his injuries. Liila collapsed off her worg, her own remaining runes no doubt fighting her as she tried to channel the light more effectively.

Finally, Timmons shivered and sat up, his glowing yellow eyes wide as he reached out and ran his fingers down his arms. Then his gaze snapped up to Liila.

Mitchell, however, couldn't look at her. He rose to his feet and took a few steps back, staring blankly at the ground. A lonely page tumbled slowly past him, dragged off by the wind. Even as Timmons caught it and mumbled something about research getting away, Mitchell's eyes widened.

It wasn't just his work that had restored Gregor and Timmons.

It was hers.


	33. Gathering Storm

Wren swung himself off the zeppelin as it landed by gripping one of the many ropes tethering the large balloon to its ship-like cabins below. Even as a few of the goblins gave him dirty looks and one yelled at him not to get them all killed, he turned sharply on his heels and extended a hand in a half bow.

With a giggle, Zeresa's fingers feathered over his, and she hopped off at a bit of an angle.

Sethyl's ears were a tad flattened as he watched the two of them together. He'd agreed to head back to Orgrimmar with them after spending some time with his father—they'd sort of danced around the issues that had been plaguing them ever since they'd first learned of his mother and brother's death to the Scourge—and had finally been unable to stand the tension.

It had felt like divine intervention when Wren had shown up and asked if he was planning on returning to the western continent. Sethyl had briefly surmised that they might be able to talk a bit on the ride over. He'd wanted to ask Wren how he felt about Liila and her…predicament. And if anything had ever come of Margaret's comments about hunting down a certain death knight. Liila's death knight.

Yes, he'd been developing quite the travel plans when Zeresa had slipped up next to his fair-headed companion and snuggled into his arms.

As it was, they'd been _adorable_ the whole trip over, and Sethyl found himself debating if hanging himself from the side of the ship would count as being overdramatic or not. He'd been thinking about such things more and more as he dealt with other members of the Horde. So many whispered about how odd the elves were: how over the top they could be.

Well, it hadn't gotten them run off, yet.

Even so…

Zeresa's giggle cut into his thoughts, and he tried not to cringe at it. Wren and his new friend were just so incredibly…in love.

Did that sort of thing actually happen so fast? It couldn't.

He trailed after the two, not completely sure how to excuse himself. He'd tried the old, 'I should probably go report to Gore or Gregor' excuse, but Wren had loved the idea and told Zeresa that she would like Gregor as well. A good, stand up man, he'd called the forsaken.

Now, Sethyl was plotting how to lose them. And how to get Enlyhn and Timmons back for ignoring all his pleas for summons.

Even as he considered that perhaps he could—perish the thought—hit up Wren for some ideas on how to terrorize the dark masters, he saw a familiar figure walking down the length of the dusty Drag, shoulders slumped and long brown curls disheveled from dust, sweat, and a lack of hair product.

"Tyan!" Their armor made a dull screech as he gripped her in a tight hug, though he didn't even flinch at the sound.

His fellow blood knight, however, was quite bewildered for a moment. It took her a few blinks to shake off her exhausted stupor, but when she did, she perked up and hugged him back. "Sethyl! I was wondering when you'd come back!" She paused, frowning. "Does that mean Miss Liila is here as well?"

"She came back before I did," Sethyl replied, releasing her. He offered her an arm. She rolled her eyes and lightly thwacked his bicep. Even as he dropped his arm with a laugh, she'd been reaching for it and covered her disappointment with her own giggle.

"I'm glad to see you out here," she murmured.

A few casual introductions were tossed about as they resumed a march toward Whisper's Vials. Sethyl noticed the way Tyan tensed the second she met Zeresa, her fingers feathering over her hair as though so simple an action could fix it. Poor lady.

In the shop, Blood sat behind the counter, his helm on and the occasional puff of icy breath escaping from within. His brilliant eyes fixed on the four of them as they stepped into the shop, and Sethyl could have sworn that they narrowed, though it was hard to see through the thin slit in the orc's helm.

"May I help you?"

Tyan shivered at the undertones in the orc's voice, though she steeled her resolve with a shrug and a quick glance to Sethyl. "Why are we here?"

"This is our guild's—"

"Shop," Blood interjected. He clasped his hands lightly on the counter, looking from elf to elf. "We have to fund our little adventures somehow."

Wren cocked his head. "I didn't know you ran the shop."

"We all pull shifts on occasion."

"It just seems like…they would want people versed in alchemy to tend to the alchemy shop."

"Cinder was here, but Margaret came and called her away. Something about an explosion and a fried warlock." Blood abruptly stood up and paced slowly around the counter. It wasn't until he was between them and the doorway that Sethyl realized what he was doing. The death knight pointed toward the small table at the back of the room. "I can't help but notice the vibes of good will, hope, and love hovering around your lot…" All four of them stiffened, "and it occurs to me that surely you would take pity on a poor bag of bones and listen to his woes?"

That last bit had been spoken in quite clear Thalassian.

Wren and Sethyl exchanged a glance. However, before either could argue, Blood had his arms slung over Zeresa's and Tyan's shoulders, and he escorted the two elven lasses over to the table. Both seemed quite willing to get out of his grasp, though Zeresa was a few shades paler than usual. Tyan merely seemed prepared for an attack, her hand resting on the pommel of the blade at her hip.

Sethyl and Wren followed. When Wren tried to object that there weren't enough seats, Blood sat down on the air, a block of ice forming beneath him. He patted the air beside him and another formed. It had to be the most pedestrian use of a death knight's talents that either elf had ever seen.

With a glance toward the others and then out the door, Sethyl sat down on the ice and let Wren take the chair, if only to sit close enough to Zeresa, who was positively terrified.

Blood at least acted like he didn't notice. "I'm going to tell you a story, now." Despite a few haphazard glances, none of the elves objected. "Back when I was alive, I fell in love with a rather gorgeous orcess. Rhaela was her name. We were competing for the position of commander, and I had wanted to win so that she would consider me for a mate." He paused, as though expecting comments from his audience. When he didn't get any, he merely grunted and continued. "Well, it didn’t take me long to learn that Rhaela was more attracted to individuals with attributes that I would never have."

"Patience?" Zeresa offered tentatively.

"At the time I lacked that, yes, but I think you'll find I've learned to be very patient." Blood cocked his head, and Sethyl abruptly got the feeling that he was purposely trying to scare the mage. A glance to Tyan showed that she'd drawn the same conclusion. However, the orc rambled on. "However, that wasn't the issue then. It turned out that she was as fond of the ladies as I was."

"Oh."

"That said," Blood shifted a bit on his makeshift chair, the ice cracking beneath his plate like bones. "While I was investigating this, I met another orcess, Saphon. She wasn't a warrior, but she had a fierceness about her…she was brave and reckless and defied the laws, bending them to suit her best. I soon forgot I had ever hoped to bed Rhaela."

He drew in a long breath, and the air grated against his dead throat. "Well, years go by, life continues, I died." He motioned to himself for emphasis, as though it was needed. "Things continue to happen, and I took the long road in being reunited with my wife, Saphon. Just about an hour ago, actually." He paused, starting to glance toward the doorway and then stopping himself with a shake of his head. "Wouldn't you know that Saphon and Rhaela were childhood friends? Rhaela never came by the house, never showed up to any of our children’s' births. Do you know why?"

The silence that filled the air was tangible.

"Why?" Tyan finally whispered.

"Because she was in love with Saphon. Rhaela was in love with her and furious that her competition had won not only the title Commander, but also Saphon's heart." He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning toward that little table and his unwilling audience. "Do you see where this is going?"

Even as Zeresa sunk into Wren's arms, almost in his lap rather than her own chair, a withered voice interrupted the mockery of a gossip circle.

"Blood, why have you taken hostages in the shop?" Gregor stood in the doorway, an exasperated look on his face. He looked older than Sethyl remembered him, and his clothes bore some scorch marks. He vaguely remembered the earlier mention of a 'fried' warlock and wondered what exactly had happened.

However, as his guild leader took in a ragged breath, he grew still. He'd gotten word on the guild stone that some curse had afflicted Gregor and Timmons, but to see the man breathing…it was eerie.

Blood slapped his hands against his knees and rose to his feet. "They were just consoling me."

"Oh?" Gregor looked so tired.

"I just found out that in the time I've been gone, my old competition stepped in to fill my shoes. In quite a few regards." The air seemed to drop a few degrees. "I understand that she'd have moved on by now…but Rhaela? Really?" He let loose a few curses under his breath.

Though Gregor did seem sympathetic, he merely patted Blood's shoulder and looked at the others. "I'm afraid I need to speak with our friendly death knight." Blood scoffed at the phrase, but didn't argue. "Why don't you get settled in at the inn? I'm afraid the shop is going to be closed for a little while."

Blood seemed as confused as the rest of them by their guild leader's words, but he merely waited patiently as the elves filed out. As he closed the door after them and turned back to Gregor, Sethyl strained his ears and heard their leader whisper, "I'd like to talk to you about death runes…."

It wasn't until they were to the inn that any of them bothered to say anything. Most of the smaller tables had been taken, and so they seated themselves around the largest, main table in the room. It looked as though it was big enough to house a war meeting, though most of the chairs were empty. A lonely grunt sat alone at another part of the giant circle, but he was far enough away—and buzzed enough—that they didn't worry that he'd be eavesdropping on any conversation.

Zeresa's pallor was still in shambles, but Tyan had recovered from their odd encounter almost entirely.

As Wren ran his hand along Zeresa's arm, he smiled at her, leaning forward so that he could catch her gaze. "I know that was a bit disconcerting, but Blood is a good…orc. Gregor, one of our leaders, is an excellent gauge of character. He wouldn't have Blood in the guild if he were a threat to anyone other than our enemies."

Zeresa's lips twitched toward a smile, though fear still played clear in her eyes. "If you say so."

Before any of them could say anything else, a plate heaped with various meats and vegetables slid onto their table. Tyan perked up. "We didn't order—"

"Jus' take de damn ting, yeh?" Khai'rhi stood beside the table, arms crossed. A few beads on her tribal robe gleamed in the inn's dim light as she inspected the four of them. "Ya look like ya been sta'ved 'n stressed. Dis be de least Ah can do for ya."

After a chorus of thank yous, the elves tentatively tried the food to find that it was excellently prepared. Khai'rhi still stood beside their table, though her gaze was sweeping the rest of the room, to make sure she wasn't making anyone wait. For the time being, it looked like the rest of the rowdy room was rather content.

Sethyl tried what looked like a bit of roasted hog and glanced over at Khai'rhi again, suddenly feeling self conscious. How could he have been in the guild this long and still know so little about so many of his guild mates? He struggled to think of something to say. Finally, he held up the meat. "This is very good. Our compliments to the chef."

"T'ank ya, den," Khai'rhi looked back at him and gave him a crooked grin when his ears perked up. "Don' tell meh. All dis time ya been stayin' hea 'n ya neva once realized Ah been de one cookin' all de meals?" She laughed when no one responded. "Ah be runnin' half a O'grimma wit' mah talents. Half dese genta'men not know wat ta do if Ah left."

Zeresa leaned forward in her seat, her ears perking up a bit. "Forgive me if this is rude to ask, but most of these seasonings don't seem very…trollish. You really made all this?"

"Ya luckeh Ah like ya boy dea," Khai'rhi murmured, arching her brow. "Ah been studehin' all ova de world, yeh? Mah friends see a cookin' recipe, dey brin' it ta meh. Ah studeh it, figua out how ta make it betta. Ya got the culmination a all a Azeroth's culinareh secrets sittin' in front of ya." She winked, only to wince as a crash echoed out from the kitchen area. "Ya welcome."

Sethyl and the others nodded, offering a few more compliments her way. The troll seemed rather pleased with herself, even as silence closed in around them again. With a curious glance, Sethyl peered up at her again. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you away from Genji. How is he?"

"Ah, dat mage…" Khai'rhi sighed, glancing back toward the kitchen again. "De troll be agile 'n quick in a group…as ya seen in ah adventu'as, yeh?" She waited for them to think back to the few raids they'd been in. Sethyl couldn’t really remember seeing Genji doing anything spectacular—granted the mage would have been behind him as he was melee—but nodded nonetheless. She beamed and then scowled. "Dat fool be so graceful in combat. Den ya try ta give 'im a real job 'n he fall ova his own robe like he neva wo'n it befoa." She paused and added. "Ta'lim be good, too. He been runnin' around tendin' ta de festivitehs, yeh? Ya see him, mebbe tell him stuff be lookin' nice?" She motioned around them to the Hallow's End decorations. "If ya t'ink so, neway. He been workin' ha'd is all, 'n nobodeh seem ta notice…" She trailed off and then frowned at another crash. "Ah gotta go save meh kitchen befoa dat idiot burns de whole place down. Ya take care now."

Zeresa watched her disappear into the back—the door slammed behind her followed by a few more crashes—and then she lightly reached out and picked a tomato from the edge of the plate. It looked as though it had missed the majority of the marinating juices, and Sethyl wondered if they ought to tell Khai'rhi they had a vegetarian in their midst.

Before he could ask, the meek mage let out a small laugh. She nudged Wren with her shoulder and then let her gaze settle on their blood knight companions. "It's like we're on a double date."

As Wren laughed, Tyan busied herself with finding something interesting on the central plate. There were a few other, empty plates around the table, though Sethyl wasn't certain if they were supposed to be there for people to gather their own food or if they'd been forgotten by a previous party. He lifted one near him, inspecting it.

They were clean enough. He handed it to Tyan and took another for himself. "I, um. Actually, Tyan and another friend have always been—"

"What?" It was Tyan interrupting him.

Sethyl felt his ears burn a little. "Well, I was just talking about Ralarr. You've always seemed…close."

An odd silence settled over them for an instant before Tyan returned to fixing her plate. "Actually, Ralarr has always been interested in another of our mutual friends." She smiled thinly. "We had a bit of an argument over him, actually."

Frowning, Sethyl leaned back in his chair. "Really? He never mentioned anything like that to me." He thought it over a moment and shook his head. "He's my best friend. He would've told me. And he made me promise not to go after you—" Sethyl realized what he was saying as Tyan's coppery cheeks flushed.

"By de Loa, mon."  Sethyl abruptly fell back against the back of his chair again as it tilted backwards dramatically. A tusk was just a hair away from his cheek, and his skin prickled from the close proximity as he stared up into a pair of narrowed eyes in a familiar green face. "How de fuk do ya elves make everehtin' so pedestrian?"

Wren's voice answered, annoyance clear in its tone. "And what have we made pedestrian?"

"Infiltratin' de enemeh's lai'a."

Sethyl frowned up at the upside down troll, still holding his chair so that he couldn't get out of it easily. "I'm sorry, whose lair have we infiltrated?"

"'n ya," Haa'aji scowled, his attention recaptured by his captive paladin. "De fuk, mon? Did Ah not be tellin' ya? Ya wanna be wit' mah liila Liila, ya gotta be a loyal liila basta'd. None a dis runnin' around wit' dem otha elves…"

"I don't know if you're aware, but ‘Little Liila’ was sure to let me know she wasn't interested," Sethyl snapped back.

"Ya eva heard of bein' a bit aggressive?"

"You want me to force my affections on someone?" Sethyl twisted around in the chair so that he could glare at Haa'aji without being at the troll's mercy. "I may have my faults, but I'm decent enough to respect a lady's—" He let out a cry as Haa'aji shoved the chair back into place and nearly sent him sprawling across the table. Wren and Tyan managed to catch his arms before he could fly into the food.

They didn't let go until they were sure that he wouldn't go after Haa'aji, who had taken a seat next to Zeresa. The troll looked like a giant next to the elf, even as he tossed her tomato into the air twice and then ate it in a single bite. Even as Wren chastised him, ever eager to defend his lady, Haa'aji caught hold of one of the servers passing by and gave her a wide grin. "'ey. We be needin' a veggeh plate, yeh?"

"Thank you," Zeresa breathed softly.

"Eh? Make dat two veggeh plates." Haa'aji corrected before letting the server return to her duties. He frowned down at Zeresa. "Wat be wit' ya liila tings 'n not likin' meat, hmm?"

"Leave her be," Wren asserted, annoyed.

As Haa'aji and Wren fell into bickering, Sethyl felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Liila leaning in between he and Tyan. "Help me summon?"

Not bothering to excuse himself, Sethyl sighed and followed after Liila. He'd barely stepped onto the inn's porch when he felt an arm brush his and looked down to see Tyan standing with him. He smiled. "You don't need to come with me."

"I'd rather not stay in there."

"As you wish," Sethyl murmured, scratching the back of his neck and hopping off the porch to follow Liila as she slipped around the side of the building. When they were behind it, they found Enlyhn waiting, already channeling his focus into a sickly green and black portal. Without a word, Liila focused her own energy into it.

Sethyl had heard about such practices, but he'd never actually seen it done before. With a bit of hesitation, he reached out toward the portal, pressing his fingers into the swirling mana. It took hold of him, and he felt a part of himself being drawn into that void. It tugged harder and harder on him and finally he stumbled back, unable to stare into that darkness any longer.

Blinking, he was surprised that rather than an odd portal, a statue stood in its place. It was that of a cloaked humanoid figure holding its cloak open, and what should have been underneath was replaced with the swirling nether. Enlyhn sighed and reached a hand into the twisting darkness in time with Liila. The two were braced against one another as their hands disappeared into nothing.

"If he shows up with a heartbeat, too, I'm quitting the guild," Enlyhn muttered.

With a grunt, his muscles tightened, and he and Liila pulled toward themselves, stepping a few paces back until Roberts was standing just in front of the statue, bits of dark magic falling away from him and dispersing into nothing.

His ragged figure was anything but breathing. He wobbled a little uncertainly on one leg and leaned into Liila as their warlock companion released him. The orc skirted around them and batted back an eerily translucent arm that tried to snatch at Roberts' back from within the portal.  He paused, eyeing the others. "You go ahead. I'll make sure nothing else comes through."

As much as Sethyl was sure he didn't want to trust that sort of task to a warlock, he turned and headed back around the corner. They'd barely gotten out of sight—they could still hear Enlyhn cursing at _something_ —when Liila paused. "Would you like us to heal you?"

"Sham's on her way, isn't she?"

"And Khai'rhi's on duty," Liila replied with a simple nod.

"Then I'll pass," Roberts let out a rasping laugh. "I'd rather not be burned with Light when I have other options."

Liila simply nodded and continued to help him along. Sethyl stepped up to the rogue's other side and offered a hand as well.

For an instant, it looked like Roberts might brush off the assistance, but then he slung an arm around Sethyl's shoulders and slumped down a bit. "After all the running I've done, I'll be happy to use your legs for a while." He paused and nodded toward Tyan. "Miss? Would you run ahead and go to the kitchen? Ask for a troll named Khai'rhi and—"

"The troll we met earlier? That's Khai'rhi," Sethyl interrupted. With a nod, Tyan darted ahead of them.

"I don't suppose Mitchell is anywhere nearby? I could use a portal…"

"He's gone for a walk," Liila replied curtly, a frown in place. "He's…upset with some recent developments." They'd reached the few stairs leading up to the inn's porch, and she was careful as she matched her own steps to Sethyl's. "He said that we can summon him back when we're ready to leave for Northrend."

"A long walk then?"

"Mm-hm," Liila murmured. Her voice was that monotone that she'd just begun to abandon. "Margaret went after him, so I think he'll be alright."

"I think Genji's in the kitchen," Sethyl offered as they walked inside. They hadn't even gotten a foot in the doorway when Khai'rhi was standing in front of them, water swirling around her hands. It wound around Roberts and soaked into his leg. After a moment, he straightened a little from his hunch and tested his leg. He gave it a firm hop before nodding to Khai'rhi.

She gave them a small wave over her shoulder before heading back to the kitchen. Roberts gave Sethyl and Liila a nod and then followed after her.

In the time they'd been gone, more seats at the table had filled. Gore and Sham sat near Haa'aji, with Howl and Wrachette flanking them as they inspected a few various maps.

So the plans for Northrend were moving along, then.

Finally.

Sethyl paused when he realized that Liila had stopped in her tracks. He followed her pale gaze to see that she was focused on Zeresa, who was busily clinging to Wren's arm as she spoke with Sprocket.

Haa'aji had swapped seats and was in the process of playing with Tyan's hair. She batted his hand away and then struck him with a holy judgment.

"Who is that elf?" Liila whispered, catching Sethyl's attention as he started toward Haa'aji.

"Zeresa?" He glanced toward her and Wren, only to shiver as he saw her give their direction a harsh glare. "She's some friend of Wren's. I don't know much about her."

"I see."

"Why do you—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Liila had already left his side, trotting over and hanging off of Haa'aji before he could try to retaliate for the stun.  "Did the lord of stuns finally get a taste of his own medicine?"

"Wooman, Ah gon ta kick ya ass if ya make fun of meh."

Sethyl slowly wound his way back to the table and slid into a chair on Tyan's far side. Despite other arrivals and departures, for the rest of the evening, he found his gaze kept flitting back to Zeresa.

Who was she indeed?

~"~

Enlyhn stood next to the grand warlock, the two of them watching a caged creature as it lunged at the bars and howled, reaching an arm with wicked claws toward them. It was less than an inch too short, and neither seemed distraught over its frenzied nature.

"The worgen have never been a concern of ours. They are the forsaken's problem," the grand warlock murmured, his tone dripping with irritation.

"This isn't one of Arugal's pets," Enlyhn replied. He and the grand warlock tilted their heads in time with one another as the creature hunched down in its cell. "This one speaks like it has some sentience in there." He paused and added, "And it had enough of its mind to follow a guild mate of mine through a summons portal."

"That _is_ curious." The grand warlock leaned forward a bit, only to simply straighten up when the worgen lurched toward them again. "If you're willing to stay and oversee this creature's…treatment, then I suppose we can keep it."

"You know I'm leaving with my guild in a few days."

"Why you want to run around with those dolts when you could be studying the dark arts is beyond my understanding," the grand warlock paused, "and I've master pit lords."

"One pit lord."

"Your point?"

"Shall we keep this one until I leave, at least?"

"If you'd like." The grand warlock seemed to lose interest, turning away. "I do hope this isn't a waste of time."

~"~

Leafless stood on the beach outside of Acherus, again watching the waves crash over one another. As she heard the sound of boots crunching over the sand and bones, she didn't bother to look to see who it was. She just knew.  "I asked the Highlord about you."

Bloodsworn stopped a few feet away from her. There was no hint of fear of being caught in some web of lies in his action. Merely, he seemed to be most comfortable with a small distance between them. "I thought you might."

"He said he remembers seeing you at the chapel. When we were freed," She added, offhandedly.

Bloodsworn took in a slow breath and let out a sigh. He walked forward a few paces so that the waves lapped at the toes of his boots. "If only."

Leafless' brow knit together as she turned to focus her gaze on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ask anyone in the Ebonhold, and they'll tell you the same thing: their master still whispers to them. Still calls them back. There is no such thing as freedom for us."

Leafless rolled one of her shoulders slowly. It was true enough. With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her mane, grimacing as she realized how brittle and unkempt it had become. When she was living, she never would have allowed herself to become so matted and dirty. But then…what did a bit of dirt matter on a corpse? It wasn't like there was anyone to impress. And even if she took care of herself, no one would notice. All they'd see would be her glowing eyes, proof that she'd ceased to be a part of their world years ago.

Bloodsworn had turned to watch her. He offered her a faint, regretful smile. "I'm not saying that there weren't scores upon scores of victims who fell at our hands…" he trailed off for a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkling with loneliness, "…but no one gives pause to consider we suffer, too."

"The Highlord thinks you should come by Acherus more often," Leafless murmured, not wanting to agree with him. Somehow, it felt weak.

Bloodsworn shrugged. "Forgive me if I don't want to play the stoic hero." He hesitated. "I've never been much for playing with others…"

"Not from what I hear," Leafless murmured, though she sucked in a breath as soon as she said it. Bloodsworn merely frowned at her comment. "Sorry…I don't always think before I speak." Her mind wandered back, filling with Whisper's angry face as she told Leafless what she could do with her opinions of her and Shadow.

Bloodsworn offered her a half smile. "We all have our faults."

The two stood in silence for a time, listening to the waves crashing against the shore. One came up and splashed up Bloodsworn's legs. He frowned, taking a few steps back. Leafless had to bite back a laugh as she watched the water drip off the skulls at his knee plates. Bloodsworn merely shook his head.

"There are plenty of people who don't work well together. You should still come up to Acherus."

"I will pass," Bloodsworn said, removing one of his gauntlets so that he could wipe off the excess water threatening to rust his boots. "There is a common sentiment among the knights of the Ebonblade that I cannot quite put words to." His frown deepened as his finger caught on one of the vicious looking teeth on his armor. "It is as though they are all playing a warped version of house. As though they think they can escape the monsters they've become with a few good deeds and tabards."

Even as Leafless shivered at the truth of his words, not wanting to believe them, he continued. "I don't want to pretend that I don't have to listen to the Lich King's call constantly. That I don't relish the thought of succumbing, of letting his will lead my hand." He paused. "Things were so much…easier when I obeyed." He gave Leafless, a lost, pleading look. "Do you not agree?" When she didn't answer, he looked toward his feet. "Perhaps I really am the monster they claim me to be."

"No," Leafless whispered before she could stop herself. "I know what you mean. I think everyone wishes they could fall back to being his pawns…every once in a while."

"Oh?" Bloodsworn looked up at her, his expression hard to discern. Leafless didn't notice, though. She was staring down at a few rib bones sticking up in the sand.

"Because then, we did horrible things, yes, but we couldn't really be held at fault for it. It wasn't us doing those terrible things. It was him doing them through us." If she were capable of tears, she was certain they'd be slipping down her cheeks. She caught a dry sob in her throat. "But there's no way to go back to that simplicity."

"Isn't there?"

Leafless snapped her head up, frowning at Bloodsworn. "There isn't. Because if we go back to him now, anything we do after will be our responsibility. It will be on our hands because we let ourselves cave in to his whispers."

"You think?"

"Undoubtedly so."

"You are right," Bloodsworn whispered, softly. He allowed himself a single, melancholy laugh. "It's unfair, isn't it?" When Leafless merely narrowed her gaze, he shrugged. "What you describe would be a single second of weakness. A momentary lapse that we would be incapable of clawing away from." He shook his head as he began to walk along the beach, parallel to the waves, away from both Leafless and Acherus. "The living are allowed such moments, yet we are not?"


	34. Blood and Thunder

"Whisp, look out!" Twist charged past her, swinging an old, slightly rusty mace in a wide arc as soon as she was past her friend.

Without looking, Whisper cast a riptide onto Twist, scanning their surroundings for any other civilians still in the market. Part of her was cursing herself for not having gone back to Orgrimmar by now. While she was glad that she was there to keep Twist on her feet and help anyone else who might be injured, she didn't want to hear the lecture Gregor would give her.

She sympathized with the man, she did. He had made the only people who knew he was undead swear that they wouldn't tell his family about what fate had befallen him, so any surviving family members would think him dead, or a shambling corpse in Northrend.

His children would have no reason to think that killing Horde might injure one of their father's friends. In fact, they might fight against those who had allied with the forsaken simply because they sought to avenge their father's death.

Whisper cast a healing rain over a small cluster of braves fighting against a few humans. Even as they rallied and swung their blades with renewed gusto, their wounds mending as the water washed over them, she tried to peer at the enemies. If Gregor's son or daughter were here, would she be able to convince the locals to take them captive instead of killing them? Would that even be an option?

She couldn't make out any of the tiny creatures' features in the twilight shadows.

Shaking it off, she turned back to Twist. She cast another preemptive riptide on her and then brought her own weapon down onto a dwarf that had been trying to sneak up on her. He was pitiful for a rogue. Even as he stumbled, she shoved her staff into his face and swung her leg out to kick his out from under him.

As he fell to the ground, she launched herself onto him, digging her knee into his chest and slamming her staff down onto his head. His fingers twitched once before he was still.

As she rose to her feet, casting a few more heals to those around her, she saw Twist wiping blood from her snout, eyes on Whisper. She grinned at her friend crookedly. "I thought you weren't a fighter."

"Yeah, well, we're all _some_ thing we don't want to be," Whisper muttered, bouncing a chain heal off of Twist and onto a few others.

Something collapsed, and a plume of embers flew up into the air in the distance.

Both tauren turned to watch as flames danced across one of the tents they could see on the upper levels. Twist looked dismayed, her hoof clakking against her defeated enemy's armor as she took a step back. "They're attacking the residential area?"

"It's where they came from, isn't it?" Whisper spat, starting toward the wyvern tower and pausing. There was the long path around the side as an alternate, but she couldn't figure out which way would be less flooded with the enemy.

Twist was already charging toward the wyvern tower. With a sigh, Whisper threw out one last healing rain to the few still fighting around her and headed out. She counted no more than seven of the original wave of Alliance that had swept into the market. Surely they wouldn't need her healing to take so few out.

As she entered into the tower, she let out a gasp as bits of burning wood and a night elf crashed into the ground beside her. She sidestepped as the male flung his arm out, desperate to grip something to pull himself up with. One of his legs was twisted awkwardly, and Whisper had no doubt it was broken. Even as she started up the sloping spiral, Twist slammed back down onto the night elf, bringing her mace down onto him hard. She barely wasted anytime before darting back up the spiral, easily stepping around Whisper and giving her a rough smile.

"Let me clear the way. Just keep me up?"

Whisper nodded silently and followed.

Fortunately, there were only a few others trying to choke the tower. Twist carved a bloody path through them, kicking their bodies over the narrow ledge and bashing others against its walls.

For a while, they were trapped just before the exit to the second level of the main city, as, sure enough, the Alliance had taken control of it. Twist had been systematically taking out the few who tried to come at them, but both she and Whisper were beginning to tire.

Worse, there was a draenei healer just on the other side of the door. He healed his allies as Whisper healed Twist. She had a feeling that neither of them wanted to see who would run out of mana first.

He was already having to rely on his totems for regeneration. But he had more allies.

Just as Whisper started to call out that they retreat back down, she felt something slide through her side, near her ribs. Fortunately, whoever it was wasn't familiar with tauren anatomy and had hit a rib rather than go in just above it. With a gasp and an instinctive stomp of her hoof, Whisper thrust her attacker from her. It was an elven rogue.

Fucking rogues.

Why did they always come after her?

She heard Twist let out a cry and looked up, already casting heals on the both of them. Fortunately, her friend hadn't been injured too badly. Her weapon, however, had broken upon contact with a paladin's armor. The man was swinging brutally at her, and it was all that Twist could do to dodge and hold her ground without slamming into Whisper.

The rogue recovered and lunged at Whisper.

She tried to kick the woman again, but her adversary simply dodged it and dragged one of her daggers up the length of the shaman’s leg. Whisper let out a screech that caught in her throat and guarded with her staff—after this was over, she would be switching to a one hander and a shield for sure. It was too easy for the rogue to get past her staff.

However, even as the elf swung a dagger up, an arm with honey colored fur caught the rogue's and then a fist slammed into her face. With a twist of her wrist, Twist swung the rogue out into the open air. She caught the rogue's belt and jerked her up as the paladin brought his sword down on her, using the rogue as a shield.

The elf screamed in pain and went limp as both the paladin and shaman stared, eyes wide.

Twist let out a guttural scream and shoved the elf into them, pushing them both off their balance.

Before they could recover—the draenei was scrambling to heal the rogue—a wall of a shield slammed into them from the side and sent all three flying off of the spiral. Whisper cringed as she heard them crash below, knowing that their heavy armor only made their landing all the worse.

A broad shouldered tauren stood in the doorway, looking surprised as he stared down at Twist and Whisper.

"How badly did they hit the residential quarters?" Whisper cried out.

Almost instantly, he gave them a wide grin. "It was a diversion, mostly. Don't suppose you'd want to help me get to Cairne?"  He motioned over his shoulder, "Things are mostly under control here, so we figured we'd see about protecting the one they're after."

"I can heal," Whisper offered, trying to catch her breath. She could still hear fighting in the distance.

"Great!" The tauren was already up the spiral, starting toward the next level.

"I have to go home," Twist murmured. When the steer paused to arch his brow, she looked down, ashamed. "My weapon's broken."

"Take one of mine then," a voice interrupted.

As Twist's head snapped up, she and Whisper found the orcess Lash had come with to be standing in front of them. She held a crisp new blade out in front of her with one hand, the other holding a slightly more worn one. Both looked like they should have been wielded with two hands. As Twist's hands curled around the hilt, she released it, starting up the spiral as well. "Just be sure to give it back. I just bought that one."

"Right…"

With that, the four of them darted upward.

Whisper had to say she was pretty impressed. The reason she'd yet to go back to Orgrimmar had been Lash. Rather than taking any heed to his warning about an Alliance attack—she'd figured the braves would take care of it—she'd actually stayed because she'd wanted to know more about his lady friend.

Kiaga had proved to be one who wasn't much for conversation, offering curt thank yous and lok'tar ogars when Whisper had brought her food and seeming completely disinterested in making friends.

Well, she'd been interested until Whisper had admitted that she'd never taken an Alliance life before.

She thought back to the dwarf from earlier. She couldn't say that anymore.

Perhaps this was what she got for sticking her snout where it didn't belong. As their tank burst through another attempted blockade with his shield and stepped back into the night air, a thought occurred to Whisper, and she looked around, confused.

"Where’s Lash?"

"I don't know," Kiaga mumbled, though for a split instant, the way she shifted her gaze made Whisper think that she _was_ worried about him.

Gore was going to be so proud that Lash had landed him a lady. And, judging by the blood spatter, she was a capable one, too.

"Look alive, healer," their tank roared, barely giving her a heads up before charging into a group of Alliance. They'd been ransacking a small business near the great open area around the bonfire outside of the chieftain's home. Whisper shuddered as she thought of all the times she'd sat around that fire with her family and friends—with Shadow—only to see it full of carnage now.

This wasn't right.

She darted after him and, when she was confident that she could see most of the fighters well from her standpoint, tossed down her totems. They flickered and danced with a magic of their own, the elements drawing to her.

An enhancement shaman came lumbering after her, but Kiaga cut the draenei off before he could even raise his mace. Blood gushed, and the orcess charged right through it, after another enemy before the shaman had finished crumpling to the ground.

Whisper tried not to look at him. He _should_ have been a brother in arms, a fellow follower of the elements.

Not an enemy.

Twist was assisting a few braves, and their tank…he was forcing his way into the bulk of the remaining Alliance forces.

He'd let himself be surrounded by the enemy, and Whisper cursed in between casts as she threw everything she had to keep him up. The steer had an uncanny grace about him, despite his tall, bulky stature. He moved as though his shield and axe were a part of him, spinning through his enemies, sending them flying with a thrust of his shield and crashing into a heap with a swing of his axe.

It took Whisper a moment to realize why he wasn't content to pick off the edges of the group.

He was going for their healers.

She cringed at the thought.

Scooping up her totems, she called to Twist, who broke free from her own fight with a few swift slices and hurried back to her.

"Cover me; I have to get closer to him."

To say that Twist carved a path for her was eerily close to the truth of it. Whisper nearly slipped once in a pool of blood as she struggled to keep their tank in range. She could hear someone crying for help and had to fight the urge to toss her heals indiscriminately. It wouldn't do to heal an enemy and be branded a traitor.

And these bastards had no right to attack her home anyway. If they'd wanted glory, they should have stuck to the contested lands.

Even so, it was hard to tune out the wails and cries of agony. In her raids, it had seemed so much simpler, though, looking back, she'd had to ignore the pleas of cultists and corrupted elves and all that.

How was it that this felt so different, then?

Perhaps it was Gregor's influence.

She was mid cast when she felt like something cold wrapped around her throat, cutting off her airway. With a gasp, she collapsed to one knee, struggling to regain her composure. She looked ahead and tried to discern where their tank was, but she couldn't see him. Instead, there was a kaldorei standing over her, his eyes an eerie white-blue instead of their usual silver or gold. His armor was black and splattered with blood.

She narrowly rolled to the side as he brought a rune blade down on her. She curled her tail to her, a few hairs from the tip sliced off. As she stumbled back, she heard Twist yelling, as well as Kiaga.

Were they telling her to dodge?

The ground was turning a sickening shade, and its illness drifted into the air, into her fingers and every part of her touching it.

Whisper looked up at the death knight, scowling. She wasn't going to let things end like this. Dodging out of the spell, she planted her hands on the ground, ignoring as the death knight followed after her, his own boots crunching into the decaying ground.

With a roar, Whisper dragged her hands up.

The earth followed her lead, quaking as it swirled up, propelling the death knight backwards and then forming into a massive elemental that towered over even the tauren. Even as the elf tried to get his bearings, the elemental slammed an arm into his midsection and sent him flying into his allies.

Not even waiting for the creature to hit the ground, the elemental rushed after him, flinging enemies left and right, sending their bodies arcing high through the air.

Even as she tried to move back to where she'd been earlier, she felt something slice into her thigh and let out a cry. Whirling around, she stared in bewilderment at the same rogue from before. The elf had a limp, but she was still on her feet, and there was murder in her eyes.

As Whisper tried to put some distance between the two of them, something bit into her shoulder. She barely managed to fling it away, eyes widening as the ghoul easily recovered. The death knight was advancing toward her again. Between the two and the pet, she was surrounded.

The rogue lunged toward Whisper, interrupting the shaman as she tried to heal herself. It was all she could do to dodge the rune blade again.

Even as she tried to recover, the rogue knocked her off balance and to the ground. Whisper cast riptide on herself. It wouldn't do much, but she couldn't get any other heals off. The rogue was on top of her. She spun her blades, angled them down, and began her thrust.

Just as the metal bit into Whisper's chest just below her collarbone, a massive white saber cat with grey dots tackled the kaldorei from her. Her blades went flying.

Whisper scrambled to her feet again, swinging her staff into the ghoul to keep it away from her. Even as she settled into a defensive stance and managed to cast another heal on herself, the ghoul let out a wail and crumbled to the ground, death runes appearing on its skin and then dissipating. In seconds, it was an inanimate pile of flesh.

The death knight was doubled over, holding his face, an arrow sticking out between his fingers. As he groaned, the rogue let out an unearthly scream and then went silent. Before he could recover, that same cat was on him. He straightened up, deflecting the creature's claws, only to have another arrow thud into his throat.

A blade sliced through the death knight's neck, shattering the arrow, and Twist leapt over the cat to reach her friend.

Whisper cast a heal on herself and then scanned the area around her. Twist slid up next to her in an instant, bandages spilling out of her hands. "Are you out of mana? I can—"

"I'm fine." Whisper flashed her a rueful smile. "Good to know I'm not the only healer here, though."

Twist rolled her eyes, casting the bandages aside as though they weren't hers—knowing her, they probably weren't, though where she would have gotten them from was beyond Whisper. However, that wasn't what made Whisper break out into a wide grin.

Lash was jogging over to them, pausing every now and again to engage a foe or loose an arrow into the fighting. His shots never missed. Blood covered half of his face, and his armor was in shambles, but he was there. He and Duskeh.

With a triumphant laugh, Whisper threw her strongest heals his way. He sprinted the last few feet to them, stopping in front of her and looking her over before notching another arrow and taking out a warrior that was mid charge toward them. The gnome's body thudded to the ground at his feet.

"I'm glad you're well."

Lash merely grunted, reaching up to wipe some blood from his face. "I'll be better when these dogs are gone."

"Won't we all," Twist nodded, settling into a defensive stance and making sure that no others were coming after her healer.

Though she could feel the wear in her limbs, Whisper shouldered her staff and pointed to where the others were fighting. "Cover me again."

"Right."

They followed the elemental back into the fighting, though it collapsed soon after they reached it. Their tank was now back to back with Cairne of all tauren, and they were sending the Alliance to their makers. Kiaga fought a few feet away from them, several braves with her. Twist and Lash managed to keep the path the elemental had made clear long enough for Whisper to join the others.

As she cast another healing rain, her tank gave her that wide grin again and nodded his head to her. He might have said more if a human hadn't flung himself forward in a blind rage. The foolish man was cut down quickly.

The rest of the battle seemed to go by without Whisper even realizing it. It wasn't until she was too exhausted to cast another heal that she realized that the fighting had subsided. The area was in shambles and bodies were everywhere, but the few remaining Alliance had surrendered. The braves were liberating their weapons from them and shoving them off to be taken into custody—prisoners of war, no doubt.

Cairne was shaking hands with their tank, and Twist had taken to stroking Duskeh's fur affectionately. Even as Whisper let herself collapse into the bloodied grasses beneath her, just glad for it to be over, she noticed something move behind one of the nearby buildings.

A human man—a warrior from the looks of it—crouched in the shadows, a bow and arrow drawn. Whisper's eyes widened as she realized where he was aiming.

"Chieftain, get down!"

The braves' heads whipped up. Her tank scanned the area, already bringing his shield up instinctively. He was at the wrong angle, though.

As Whisper watched in horror, the human let his arrow fly, even as several others converged into him. The single, slim shaft of wood flew through the air, straight toward Cairne.

And then a second arrow slammed into its head, sending it plummeting down, burying itself into the ground feet before the tauren's leader.

Lash already had another arrow notched as he whirled toward the dead human.

Any fight that might have remained in the prisoners' minds fled, and they succumbed to the numbness that their fates were out of their hands, and their brethren's deaths had been for nothing.

Cairne clopped over to Lash, a look of disbelief and respect mixed across his features. "Well done, orc." He appraised him carefully, a genuine smile on his face. "And with that bloodied eye, too."

"It's already been healed, sir."

"Still." Cairne started to say something else, but one of the braves hurried up, demanding his attention. With a sigh, the old tauren nodded to him again. "What is your name, orc?"

"Gorelash."

"…That's it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think Gorelash Bloodeye would be a fitting title, don't you?" the chieftain glanced over to Kiaga—ignoring as his brave tried again to get his attention—as she stood just to the side, not wanting to interrupt such an important conversation.

She looked Lash over for a moment and then gave him a lopsided smile. "I think it's a fine name, for a fine orc."

"Mm-hm," Cairne nodded. "What war guild do you hail from?"

"None, sir," Lash replied, pausing as the tauren's brow shot up. "I, er, I'm in an adventuring guild. Impervious."

"Ah, a name I've heard in passing," he nodded, finally pausing to wave at his brave to let him know he'd be but a moment longer. "I'll send word to your leader that you've truly honored them today."

"Thank you sir," Lash replied, thumping his fist to his chest. He paused, glancing over at Whisper and then Kiaga. Cairne was already turning away. "I wasn't alone, sir. Whisper Windsong…she's one of my guild's best healers."

Whisper doubted that, though she found her fur bristling with embarrassment as Cairne and the others looked her way. She ducked her head in respect, forcing herself up to her feet so that she wouldn't look quite so pitiful.

"And if not for Kiaga Bloodblade, I wouldn't have been here at all."

It was apparent that Kiaga was as surprised as Whisper to have been dragged into the honored circle. However, Cairne nodded to each of them in turn. He paused, looking over Kiaga. "What guild do you hail from?"

"I'm guildless, sir."

"Well, I doubt you'll be that way for long after the war guilds hear of your heroism today." Cairne nodded to them again before finally turning away. "Go with honor, friends."

With that, the old tauren hurried away, braves surrounding him as he followed their lead.

Whisper stood there for another moment before her legs decided to betray her and buckled out from beneath her. Before she could scrape her knees on the ground below, an arm looped around her waist. Twist held her other hand. "You okay?" She paused before a girlish grin settled into place. It looked almost eerie on her, surrounded by fur matted with sweat and blood. "You were amazing, though! I knew you were a good healer, but that was amazing!"

"I wasn't that—"

"None of that," a gruff voice said practically in her ear. As she flicked it, she glanced up to see that it was their tank from earlier who was holding her up by her waist. That same grin from earlier was in place as he nodded his chin to her. "Whisper, is it? Nice to meet you. I'm Istal Steelwind."

Even as Whisper echoed the sentiment halfheartedly, she looked back at Lash. Part of her wanted to untangle herself from the steer holding her up, but she doubted she would be up if she did.

Lash was still standing where he had been, staring after Cairne with a look of awe plastered across his face. Whisper did her best to reach out and slug his shoulder, though she couldn't quite reach. "Good on you, Lash! We all owe you for…well, everything!"

Puffing up a little with pride, Kiaga gave him a toothy grin and a nod. "That we do, Bloodeye."

"I—" Lash looked at Kiaga finally and then to Whisper. He was pale, and she saw him shake for a split instant. "I have a last name."

"You earned it," Twist offered, trotting up to him. Despite standing taller than he was, the adoration on her face made her look almost childish next to him. She always had acted young for their age. "It would've been a dark day indeed if you hadn't stepped in!"

"Thank you," he murmured, still stunned.

Kiaga slapped a hand on his shoulder abruptly. "Come, let's get to the inn, and I'll buy you a drink."

"Psh," Whisper interjected, though she paused when she saw the orcess give her an irritated look. "I see no reason to toss the hero of Thunderbluff into a damn inn." She tried to stand tall, despite still needing the crutch of a steer beside her. "You can stay with me."

"Your mother will pick his brain to pieces about what you've been up to," Twist offered softly.

Whisper frowned, considering it. It was true enough. Lash deserved to be in the spotlight for a while, yet her mother would no doubt spend the whole evening dismissing that the orc had saved their chieftain, instead demanding to know just what Whisper was doing in Orgrimmar and why she wasn't heading home sooner.

An honored hero deserved far more than that.

"If you'd like," Istal began slowly, adjusting his grip on Whisper's waist so that his hand was more firmly supporting her. "You all can come stay at my place. It's not far. I can send word to your families that you're fine…" he paused to look at Twist and then Whisper. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than she was comfortable with.

"I'd better not," Whisper murmured.

"I'll walk you home then," the steer replied. He paused, motioning to the others. "There's no reason the rest of you can't stay, though. You defended my people, it's only fair."

Lash hesitated and then nodded toward Istal. "Thank you. We'll accept your hospitality."

In a swift motion, Istal hoisted Whisper up in his arms, grinning when she tried to protest. "This is easier than me dragging you along like a lame leg."

Unable to argue, Whisper let him tote her through the city. She tried to keep track of the conversation, and survey the damage, but before she knew it, sleep reached up to claim her, and she drifted off.


	35. Ruffled Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been on hiatus for a very long time. However, I've started working on it again and hope to finish it by the end of June or July. Impervious will be updated on Sundays until it's completion. Thank you to everyone who reads! I hope you enjoy the story.

Cloudless sat between Tizzle and Sprocket, reading carefully over a forty-page document that they'd given him. It had something to do with the houses they were planning on getting, though Cloudless wasn't really sure what. He already had a home. And so did they, even though they seemed to want to split ways already.

He lowered the page he was one—miserable page five—and eyed the two. "Why exactly am I the one reading this?"

"We figure," Tizzle began slowly, rolling his eyes as he motioned vaguely about with a hand, "that since we'll be headin' ta Northrend soon, we might as well just keep the hut we have for the time bein'. No sense in buyin' somethin' we can't even move into, ya know?"

"And that involves me, how?"

It was Sprocket's turn. He leaned against the table they'd seated themselves around in Cloudless' sparse home. Like most huts in Orgrimmar, it was simply one large room. Cloudless hadn't opted to get a place with a second story, mostly because—despite Whisper's promises that he would be fine—he had feared that the floor might not support so bulky a creature as himself. "We figure if we're gonna be ownin' property together, we better know that it's fair grounds and all, yeah? We don't want ta come back 'n get in a fight over simple stuff, right?"

"So?"

"So, we've drawn up a document that we think is suited ta our needs," Tizzle said, irate.

"So?"

"So," Sprocket snapped, pointing toward the document. "We need a third party ta read it over and make sure that it's fair. That we ain't screwin' each other over in ways we ain't figured out yet."

"And you chose me?" Cloudless asked slowly, eyes narrowed.

Fluffy bleated from its corner, eye twitching faintly as it nibbled on some grass that had been laid out in a bowl for it.

The three of them eyed the little creature a moment before dismissing it—for some reason, the farm animal gave Sprocket and Tizzle the creeps.

Cloudless wanted to tell them they would need to find someone else, perhaps someone more versed in this sort of matter—another goblin?—but he couldn't very well pass them off onto another guild mate, could he? After all, this would be cumbersome for anyone, and of everyone, he seemed to have the most free time of late. His affairs were in order, and he would be ready to head to Northrend on a moment's notice.

Even as he miserably resigned himself to reading again, his guild stone chimed.

Thank the balance.

Jerking his guild stone out a little too quickly, giving both Sprocket and Tizzle apologetic looks as he did so, he froze when he saw the message that flickered over the stone.

It was from Whisper.

Before either goblin could ask him what was going on, he'd gripped Sprocket's shoulder. "I need a portal to Thunder Bluff."

The goblin's eyes widened as he stared up into the panicked look on his guild mate's face. "I-I don't know that one, yet."

Cursing, Cloudless was on his feet and out the door before Sprocket could say anything else. He and Tizzle sat at the table a moment longer before Tizzle pulled out his guild stone and scrawled out a message to Whisper, asking what the fel had just happened. A long, long pause answered them, to the point that Sprocket had begun to pull his own stone out, to try asking Haa'aji what was going on.

Before he could, however, an answer finally flickered in purple across Tizzle's stone.

_There was an attack on Thunder Bluff, and we can't find Skybow._

~"~

Stomping hard enough through the Durotan desert that the sands poofed up in angry puffs in his wake, Mitchell didn't even hear his name being called. It wasn't until he turned to start pacing the other way and nearly walked into Margaret that he realized he wasn't alone.

He stared into her worried face and felt something wrench free in his gut. Some core piece of him, something that he'd thought was buried or dead or forgotten burst free, and before he could stop himself, he was hiccupping apologies through dry, tearless sobs, arms gripping Margaret by her shoulders.

Margaret was a bit taken aback by the breakdown. Mitchell had been in such a good mood before the explosion—and honestly even after explosions he was rarely more than annoyed. Besides, no one had died. Sure, he'd lost some research for that curse, but…it could be pieced back together.

Even as she slipped her arms around him, gently patting his back as he sobbed, she tried to piece together what had upset him so much. It was clear, however, that she was missing pieces of the puzzle, and she finally settled for comforting him until he regained enough self-control to speak coherently.

He'd kept saying he wanted to surprise her through his tears, and she felt an old, painful tug at her heart as she watched him, waiting as patiently as she could.

When he finally managed to calm down, his breathing fading along with his sobs, she guided him over to a small outcrop of rock and sat with him, their backs against the shaded side. As they sat there, she squeezed his hand. "I know you may have lost some notes, but it'll be okay. I can help you restore some of the papers, if you want. I'm pretty good at it."

"It's not that," Mitchell whispered.

Margaret pursed her lips, thinking. "Is it because Liila healed Gregor and Timmons? I know that might skew your results, but you're so meticulous, you'll figure out how much her healing affected—"

"I don't wanna talk about Liila!" Mitchell hissed, enough venom in his voice that Margaret recoiled slightly, eyes wide. When he realized he's startled her, he paused, glancing over at her, suddenly looking a little sick. "Have you ever died?"

"Mitchell…"

"I mean, aside from the first time." He coughed into his hand, shifting a little as he turned his blind gaze toward his feet. "I think… I think I have. Twice. When I walked away from it, I thought I was just lucky. But it wasn't… It wasn't luck at all."

"Mitch, you're a bit ahead of yourself—"

"Gregor and Timmons weren't cursed by anything," Mitchell whispered, curling his legs into his chest and resting his head against his boney knees. "It was me. I tried to fix them."

It took a long, long moment before Margaret abruptly realized just what it was that Mitchell was confessing. Her eyes widened and then narrowed and then… She leaned toward Mitchell. "You got their hearts beating? All on your own?"

"No."

The word was so bitter.

Margaret shifted so that she could face him, a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"

It took a bit of prodding, but Mitchell finally explained himself, starting back when Margaret had gotten upset at Ta'lim's quip. He told her everything, from blowing up the Society's lab to when Timmons died, death runes bringing him back.

When he was done, Margaret sat back, hands folded in her lap, gaze unfocused. "So you think Liila carved death runes into all of us? That the reason we live through so much stuff is because she played Lich?"

"I don't really care about that part," Mitchell mumbled. "I'd have liked to know, actually. It'd be nice not to have to be scared of everything, of knowing that even if it does kills me, it can _still_ make me stronger."

Margaret mused over that as well, though she couldn't help but wonder what such runes would do to someone who gave up living. Would they devolve into a ghoul-like thing, something that would follow Liila around, expecting orders?

Not that Liila would do that to someone.

Not intentionally.

Margaret thought back to the way Liila always treated Gobber like he was still a person and shivered.

Finally, she looked back at Mitchell. "If you're not angry about being… By the Dark Lady, are we immortal?"

Mitchell shrugged a little.

Margaret's brow shot up as even more possibilities skittered through the darker recesses of her mind. She pushed them aside with a sharp shake of her head. "Then why are you upset?"

Face twisting with a juvenile agony, he looked at her, desperate. "Because! _I_ wanted to be the one to save you!" He pressed one of his hands against his chest. " _I_ wanted to be the one to make it better! I didn't want to just piggyback off someone else's work! I wanted it to be _me_!"

As soon as his outburst was done, he recoiled into himself, looking more terrified than she'd ever seen him. "Mitchell…"

He turned away, curling up, hands against his scalp, a few fingers even flattening part of his beloved Mohawk. "Don't. Don't tell me I'm just a kid! Don't tell me that it's sweet or cute or whatever!" His voice broke like he might start crying again. "I don't want to be the sidekick! I want to be the hero! _Your_ hero!"

That pang in her chest echoed again, and Margaret could have sworn that she felt her heart beat for a breath. It was, of course, just her imagination.

Moving quickly to him, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, pulling him to her. He wrapped his arms around her as well, trembling as he began to cry again. As she cradled him against her, she smiled faintly, humming an old song that had always helped her in life.

How odd that it would come to her now of all times.

Or perhaps not.

"Liila might be able to stave off death, but you're the one that got their heartbeats going again," she offered when he'd calmed down a second time. Leaning back a little, she cupped his face and grinned at him, pressing her forehead against his. "Don't you get it, Mitch? You _are_ the hero, here."

~"~

Cloudless appeared in the cavern that housed the arrivals to Thunder Bluff, nearly colliding with a forsaken mage who was mulling about, seemingly bored with her surroundings. He didn't even offer an apology as he tore past her, dodging a few other casters in the process. When he reached the lip of the cave, his momentum carried him over the edge.

It was a fortunate thing that he'd spent a good portion of his time in Outland learning how to take on an avian form, or his quest to find Skybow would have ended rather abruptly.

As it was, he startled a few braves who had seen him go careening over the ledge by shifting forms midair and then soaring toward the main part of the city. He knew exactly where to head. Up on the same plateau as the bonfire and chieftain's home was a small building the braves used as a center of operations. While it wasn't as official of a military headquarters as an orc or human might use, it worked well enough for the tauren.

As he flew down to the building, he shifted back into his natural form a few feet above the ground, his hooves slamming against the earth as he dropped the last few feet and making more than a few people jump.

Despite his surprise, the head brave stationed there greeted him cordially. Cloudless barely heard him. "There's rumor that Skybow is missing? Skybow Meadowstalker?"

The brave hesitated, a bit taken aback by Cloudless' tone. Then his lips dipped into a frown. "We were hit fairly hard by an Alliance raid. We've accounted for everyone in the city, but some of our braves were sent to Bloodhoof Village. There's been a bit of confusion with gathering the names of—"

Cloudless didn't wait for him to finish speaking, instead whirling around and launching himself back into the air. His form shifted back to a bird's, and in a heartbeat he was heading to Bloodhoof.

~"~

Howl's hammer struck against steel as he beat the imperfections from his latest work, sparks flying. The sound echoed around him, filling his ears.

He knew that Embry had gone off to find his letter, thinking it was some sort of treacherous threat to the Horde, and was rather worried that she'd gotten it away from Lash. While they'd sent out messages saying that their stones were clear to use, Howl still wasn't comfortable writing a message about his secret affair. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that the guild stones could store information for a good, long while, and he didn't want anyone getting a hold of his. What if someone went after Veena because they thought to get rid of her so that he would stay loyal to the Horde?

Sure, he'd dared to ask Lash if it had been delivered in as vague a way as possible, but the orc hadn't ever responded, and Howl didn't want a record of desperation to mark his worry.

Trying to avoid such horrifying thoughts, Howl attempted to focus on his work. It wouldn't do to lose a finger because he'd let his mind wander. Veena might still love him, even if he was short an appendage—she would, wouldn't she?—but it would make his attempts to become better with his letters considerably more painful, especially if he lost a finger from his right hand.

It was hard to concentrate, though. His own problems aside, the entire damned guild seemed to be in chaos over the last few weeks, and he was still bogged down with work that wouldn't let him be much assistance for another day or so.

Well, really, most things were calming down, relatively. The goblins had upset the economic stability of Orgrimmar for a few days, though that had been smoothed out. Cloudless was settling into the city. Blood had finally talked to his wife and son. Gore had become a full-time guild leader. Roberts had been rescued, and he was working on finding the one who had nearly murdered—had murdered, really—Gregor and Timmons. It had to be one of Sylvanas' people. That she would want to stem an attempt to find a cure for the plague baffled Howl. Or had that been someone else? A hidden faction within the forsaken, perhaps?

It was something to look into, once he was a free orc again.

He still felt guilty that he hadn't helped, though.

It was something that would settle as they headed to Northrend, at least.

Genji had commissioned Howl to make Khai'rhi a new mace and shield, as he wanted her protected to her fullest when they headed to Northrend. Howl woudl start on that as soon as he had some time to breathe. There were one or two projects he was hoping to get to before they left, but he wasn't sure he would be able to. Perhaps he could get Blood and Leafless to help him with a few, though it seemed that Leafless was still off doing…something.

Sulking, he'd wager, though he hadn't been able to find the time to gather what exactly had happened other than 'drama'. She had apparently told them that they could summon her once they got to Northrend, because she was busy with something she wouldn't go into detail about. He'd sent her a few private messages, but she'd just told him she'd explain everything later.

That she was tired now.

He'd considered sending her a message that if she ever needed someone in her corner, he was there, but he didn't know how to word it. Besides, surely she knew that she was one of his closest friends at this point. She was an excellent fighter, and he'd always been impressed and honored to fight beside her.

More and more lately, she'd been withdrawing from guild events, and Howl was worried. He didn't know how to voice his concerns though, or who he might mention it to.

Blood, perhaps? Or would the death knight think him foolish for fretting so?

It didn't matter if he did. Howl would talk to Blood later today, even if it was the dead of night. It wasn't like Blood needed to sleep.

Howl's hammer just barely missed his hand, and he scowled down at his current project.

Word was that Garrosh was going to be asking him to go with him to Northrend. He'd have to decline that offer. After all, he'd officially stepped down as Orgrimmar's master blacksmith years ago.

"Howl!"

A familiar voice interrupted him just as he brought his hammer down again. He managed to stop just shy of breaking his hand, setting his hammer down and turning a broad smile toward the entry way to his workshop. It was about damned time. "Lash!"

As he nodded toward his guild mate, he noticed that the hunter wasn't alone. An orcess stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and Howl couldn't help but get the feeling that he'd missed even more than he'd originally thought.

"It's Gorelash Bloodeye now," Lash said, standing a little bit straighter.

All but forgetting about his work for Garrosh, Howl was instantly ushering the two over to a work bench. He cleared it off quickly and motioned for Lash to tell him the story. At first, his guild mate seemed a little reluctant, but as he hesitated, the orcess—Lash called her Kiaga, and offered a haphazard introduction—was quick to fill in the gory, magnificent details.

By the end of the story, Lash was telling it himself, proudly explaining how the leader of the tauren himself had offered the name. Howl reached over and caught Lash's head in a headlock, affectionately laughing as he shook him slightly and then let him go. "Honor to you, friend. I'm glad to hear it."

"Gore wasn't at home, so I haven't had a chance to tell him yet," Lash said once the tale was over, glancing toward the entrance to the workshop, like his uncle might stride in at the mere mention of him.

"I think he's at Whisper's Vials," Howl mused, pulling his guild stone out and checking it. With a nod, he tucked it away, noting how Kiaga seemed to already understand the guild stones at least a little. He'd figured, the way the two were connected at the shoulder, that Lash must have shown off at least a little. "We're having a guild meeting tonight, so he's getting everything set up and making sure that most everyone will be in attendance."

"Most?" Lash questioned.

"Ah, well. Leafless is…" Howl trailed off a moment before shrugging. "Leafless is running a lead. Blood or I will fill her in later. And Mitchell and Margaret had to tend to something as well."

"You don't know what?" Lash seemed surprised.

With a quick motion around the room, Howl sighed. "I've been a bit busy with all this." He paused before adding, "Apparently Gregor and Timmons have heartbeats, though, so don't be surprised by that."

With that, he was all but forced to relay what little he did know, though after a few minutes, he finally sighed and shook his head. "Honestly, you'll probably want to catch up with some of the others at the store. You do that, and you'll know more about everything than I do."

Lash laughed at that, though he nodded. As he and Kiaga rose, the orcess paused to give Howl a swift bow. "It's an honor to meet you, master smith."

"And you, hero of the Horde," he bowed his head back to her. When both of the young orcs seemed pleased by the return, he made a brief shooing motion. "Now, you'd better get going. I've got quite a bit left to do." However, as he bid them good day, he paused, thinking of his letter.

Even as he turned to call for Lash, he saw that his guild mate had hung back, waving to Kiaga who had already started down the road. The two of them stood there for a moment before Lash finally shifted, abruptly looking toward the ground, as though embarrassed. "Miss Lockspring says you should talk about stars and flowers more."

Howl paused, eyeing the orc in front of him. "You read it?"

With a heavy sigh, Lash nodded.

Howl hesitated. "So…did you think I came on too strong—"

"Please, don't."

Howl sighed. He hadn't wanted Lash to know the contents of his letter, lest something happen and the young orc get incriminated along with Howl. What was done was done, however, and he couldn't very well take it back now. "But it was sent?"

"Yes."

"Well, good then..." Howl paused and then nudged Lash. "I suppose it worked out in the end, didn't it?"

With a half-smile, Lash nodded, his gaze wandering back toward the street, in the direction that Kiaga had disappeared to. "It did."

~"~

Skybow had just finished a long day of repairing damaged tents and other structures throughout the simple village. The dead had finally been laid to rest, and their attackers' corpses burned. Though some of the civilians were still a bit skittish, jumping every time something heavy fell over, and fretting whenever a mounted figure appeared on the horizon, things were slowly falling back into place.

As he sauntered toward the inn to rest, he stopped when he heard his name being called by an all too familiar voice. Cloudless.

Turning, he scanned his surroundings, his heart fluttering despite it all. Yes, in a fit of rage he'd told Cloudless to get out. He'd felt like, more and more, his love had been slipping away from him, that he didn't even know him anymore. When a forsaken, a blighted corpse of all things, had shown up on their doorstep, it felt like Skybow had truly lost touch with him.

He hadn't expected Cloudless to really leave. He'd thought that they would argue, maybe break something accidentally, and then sulk for a few days before Cloudless would disappear for a few weeks, only to come back and have things fall back into a semi-normal routine.

That he'd actually left…

Skybow couldn't blame anyone, but himself. He'd been the one to tell him to get out. But then, could anyone blame _him_? Cloudless was never _there_.

He was off, saving the world, having adventures that he never seemed comfortable telling Skybow about, as though they had to stay secret.

Even so, the last few weeks had been lonelier than the last year and a half. There had been no letters, no looking forward to when his lover _would_ be home. It had felt so empty.

He'd been glad for the attack on Bloodhoof Village, if only for the distraction. But then, as the fighting had died down, as the work to rebuild had dried up, he'd felt that loneliness creeping back up inside of him, leaving an empty pit in his stomach.

He'd dreamt of Cloudless' voice almost every night, of telling him that there had to be a way things could work out, that there had to be _something_ , some middle ground they could find.

He'd dreamt of the very voice that had him scanning his surroundings now.

Even as his search turned up empty, he dared a glance up, a sharp movement catching his gaze. His eyes widened as a large bird flew straight toward him. Even as he took a step back, realizing the creature wasn't going to deviate from its course, it shifted, feathers dipping into fur as the shape expanded and twisted into someone he knew as well as himself.

Cloudless literally tackled Skybow to the ground from the air, and the two tumbled through the grass before finally coming to a stop. As Skybow tried to get a grip on what had just happened, Cloudless' arms wrapped tightly around him, tears matting the fur around his eyes.

"I thought you'd died."

Skybow lay there in the grass a moment before smiling faintly, reaching up and holding his love. Part of him wanted to chastise the druid, to point out that that dreadful fear in him was something Skybow had suffered so many times over.

Instead, he simply held him, content that, at least for now, they were together.

Things were as they should be.

~"~

Enlyhn stood in front of an empty cage, a few slabs of meat in hand as he stared past the bars. As the grand warlock stepped up to him, he didn't bother to look his way. "Where is my worgen?"

"It got loose."

"Got loose." Turning slowly toward the other 'lock, Enlyhn frowned when his superior simply shrugged. "Have the guards been alerted?"

"The damned thing already got out of the city. It was headed for Ashenvale when it managed to disperse the tracking spell we'd cast on it." Even as Enlyhn turned to go find his mount and take up pursuit—his guild mates could summon him onto the zeppelin, after all—the grand warlock lightly gripped his arm. "Don't bother. It's one mindless beast."

"I'm not so sure about that," Enlyhn confessed, deciding not to point out that a 'mindless beast' couldn't very well have dispersed much of anything. He'd seen an intelligence in the creature's eyes, even as it pretended not to understand what they said.

The grand warlock rolled his eyes. "Even if it does have a mind, what good will going to Ashenvale do? Is it going to ask the kaldorei for help?"

"Fair enough." Enlyhn sighed, glancing down at the snack he'd brought for it. With a shake of his head, he turned and began to make his way out of the cleft, pausing to toss the treats to someone's felhunter. He could worry about his lost worgen later. For now, he had a guild meeting to get to.


	36. Cabin Fever

Before Gore had been the commander of Orgrimmar's defenses, he had always found a sort of serenity in standing at the edge of the market or auction house, closing his eyes, and listening to the steady hum of life around him. It was a testament to all that his people had accomplished under Thrall's watchful eyes, and it was encouraging to know his people were thriving.

As he would stand, little snippets of conversation would drift in and out and paint a picture of dozens of lives brushing past one another, too caught up in their own agendas to notice how the little fragmented existences they lived fit together as a puzzle would, painting a beautiful, if not hectic, picture.

People buying weapons, readying for weddings, celebrating births, praying for loved ones' safety in battle. That had been why he'd worked so hard, why he'd proven himself worthy of climbing to his role as commander. He'd wanted to protect that hum of life, that proof that better times were already being forged.

He'd given that role up so that he could ensure those better times. He would defeat any threats to his people. Even if he was never offered a word of praise, if no one ever heard even a whisper of his honor, it would be worth it. Just to know that his people were more than just surviving...that they were truly living.

Those had been his general thoughts, until recently.

Gore leaned against the wall outside of his cabin, his rough hands covering his face as though a shield against whatever might be coming his way. He didn't want to listen to the voices around him anymore. If he did, he'd hear one of his idiot guild mates plotting something beyond moronic, or worse, he'd hear the goblin crew members screeching because, whatever the plot, it was already in action.

He heard the floorboards creak near him, and he hesitated, thinking perhaps the person would walk past and leave him be. The creaking ceased, and he sighed, slowly lowering his hands and looking to his side to see Renza'shi standing awkwardly a few feet away.

The troll hadn't intended to travel with them, but when he'd gone to see about getting a zeppelin ride north—he was still guild-less and had figured he would fly solo for a while—he'd been thrilled to learn that there was a single opening left on the first zeppelin heading north.

However, he'd barely had time to put his belongings in his tiny cabin filled with four hammocks when Ta'lim had walked in and waved. It wasn't that Renza'shi didn't like Ta'lim. Quite the contrary. No, it was just that he'd already heard that Impervious was traveling as a guild, and if Ta'lim was there, that meant Haa'aji was somewhere on the zeppelin as well. Even though he'd run back to the deck, hoping to get away—the zeppelin ride had been estimated to take two weeks, and Renza'shi could barely stand two minutes with Haa'aji—they'd already pulled away from the tower, and Renza'shi wasn't about to fling himself off the zeppelin and hope he didn't break everything when he landed.

Thus he'd committed himself to the ride. And it hadn't been too bad for the first week. However, a little into the eighth day, Haa'aji and a few others seemed to succumb to boredom, and the troubles started.

As he looked at Gore, he had to wonder if perhaps the troubles had started even earlier, for the orc before him was clearly ready to smack who or whatever he needed to smack to ensure that the rest of the trip would be smooth.

The zeppelin abruptly shook, and a few gasps and shouts came from the deck overhead. Renza'shi took in a slow breath and pointed back the way he came. "Uh, sorreh ta botha ya, but Ma'garet wanted meh ta tell ya dat de crew gone somewhat postal. Dey tied Timmons up 'n hung him off de edge of de ship 'n Ma'garet said dey be afta Haa'aji, too."

Gore stared at Renza'shi for a long, unsettling moment. "They're hanging them off the ship? Are they hurting them?"

"Ah tink de concern been more for de crew, if dey actualleh get dea hands on Haa'aji..."

With a heavy sigh, Gore pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk toward the stairs. He wasn't sure, but he was beginning to suspect that his guild mates were somehow making him age faster, for as he walked forward, he felt older than he had when he first stepped onto the zeppelin.

Much, much older.

However, before he could head off, and Renza'shi could decide if he wanted to go watch the upcoming spectacle or just hide in his room and leave Impervious' drama to Impervious, the door near Gore swung open, and Sham stormed into the hall, looking one way and then the other, her eyes locking on the back of Gore's head.

"Gorgon Hellsblood! What is the meaning of this?" Renza'shi had never heard her raise her voice before, and his eyes widened as Gore's shoulders slumped. The orc turned slowly to see that his wife was holding a small piece of parchment toward him accusingly. "A suicide note?"

As their troll audience's jaw dropped, Gore frowned. "What? No. That's not—"

"It sure sounds like it," Sham snapped as she stalked forward, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms. "'I am sorry for my actions, but I cannot live like this any longer. Please forgive me'?"

Gore took the note from her and pocketed it. "This is for when I snap and murder every last damn one of those—" He paused as he realized that Renza'shi was still standing there. His face grew eerily calm. "I suppose I should get up to the deck to take care of their newest mess, shouldn't I?"

Renza'shi stepped in front of him, palms out. "If ya be wantin', Ah can go find Grega, yeh?"

"It's fine," Gore muttered, stepping past the troll, his shoulder brushing against the wall of the tiny hallway. "Just...make sure you don't do anything to enable them, alright? With anything." As Renza'shi nodded slowly and edged against the far wall to give Gore more space, Gore shook his head slowly as he headed up the stairs. "Thank the ancestors I never had children. I couldn't live with years of this..."

Sham nodded to Renza'shi, though neither of them said anything. He'd witnessed her panic attack as she came to the conclusion that her husband was going to jump off the zeppelin and into the rolling waves below. She found herself feeling somewhat ashamed to have ever considered that Gore would end himself. However, in a way it was somewhat worse if he planned on taking the whole ship down instead.

She slipped past Renza'shi, deciding to back Gore up if he needed it. The troll watched the two of them head up and just turned slowly to walk down the hall. He couldn't imagine what Taknar would have done to fools who acted so bizarrely in Blood and Honor.

~"~

Wren had actually been enjoying the zeppelin ride to Northrend. As with Maraudon, he was fascinated to see the natural world and, even if Margaret couldn't understand what was so interesting about watching 'the same waves roll over each other', watching the glittering ocean below and the clouds above had still been a peaceful past time for him. Zeresa had come along—she'd taken Cloudless' spot, as the druid had declared that he would be going on a leave of absence, without a set time that he would be returning, thus freeing up a space on the zeppelin—and had attempted to join him on one occasion, but the continuous rolling of the waves had made the elf sick, and she'd vanished below deck. Hardly anyone had seen Zeresa since.

At least Blood and Shadow kept him company. Neither of them needed sleep any longer—and Shadow couldn't comfortably fit down the hall to the residential area—so almost any time one wanted to find them, one needed only go to the deck to see them either pacing or speaking quietly to the side, flipping through a stack of odd scribblings which they seemed hesitant to let Wren see clearly—they always tucked them away when Wren came over, though he merely dismissed it, figuring that almost everyone in the guild had some type of secret they didn't want to share with everyone.

However, Wren had to say he was a bit surprised at Margaret's disinterest. After all, she was a mage. Perhaps it was because he was an elf, but Wren had always been able to see the way magic flowed through nature, like the way tree roots pulled it up from deep in the earth, calling on it to sustain them as they might water. In Silvermoon, the spells were so cluttered and repetitive that it drove him crazy, and he'd always preferred spending time out at the different farstrider outposts, watching the natural magics twine through the air.

Orgrimmar had been a nice change of pace, indeed. While the orcish warlock coven and a few other 'hot spots' were still overrun with creature-made spells, the majority of the city was peaceful, reminding Wren of the serenity of Eversong before the Scourge had come.

The sea teemed with magic. Much of it was older than anything he'd ever seen before, whispering of times when spells were tenfold stronger, and the world was whole. Wren felt like he could get lost, listening to the lull of the ancient spells below.

Until a few days ago, anyway.

The magics had begun to shift. While they held no real color that the eye could register, they had begun to feel sicklier and darker the closer to Northrend they got. It was as though the Lich King's poisonous energies had plagued even the seas.

To the naked eye, they remained the same green-blue as they'd always been, but almost all of the serenity had left them. The others seemed to be feeling it to, even if they couldn't put a name to it.

Haa'aji, for instance, had begun to fidget and pace shortly after the necrotic spells polluting the water had become dominant, and many of the others were growing restless as well. Most would probably chalk it up to anticipation and knowing that their ride was almost over.

Wren was still somewhat disappointed that Margaret hadn't caught the change. By the Light, it didn't seem like any of the mages had, and Sethyl had been in a sour mood the whole time, making it impossible to talk to him about it.

It _was_ an elven thing though, wasn't it? Some innate ability that most elves took for granted?

It had to be. After all, Wren couldn't cast even the simplest of spells, and he could see it.

Wren's hammock swung slightly as a shiver went through the zeppelin. He frowned and tapped a mana crystal as he waited to see if anything else would happen, like one of the walls drop off or some other hellish indication that their trip was about to take a turn for the worse. When nothing did, he figured it must have been turbulence and sighed.

However, his relief was short lived. His hammock abruptly flipped and he found himself sprawled out rather awkwardly on top of Haa'aji. Even as the troll grinned at him and waggled his fingers in a nonchalant wave, Wren darted away from him, a frown firmly in place. "Please, don't do that."

Haa'aji lurched up into a sitting position, one of his ears going through the holes in the hammock above the one he'd taken up. It wasn't his; no one could actually figure out where Haa'aji was sleeping. He was technically on the guest roster for the zeppelin—well, he was a number really, as Gore had used guild funds to pay for the correct number of bodies—but when people did the math to see which room had an extra bed, they always fell short. It was as though the troll didn't exist.

Wren's hair tumbled over his shoulders, and his frown deepened for a moment before he realized that Haa'aji was absentmindedly winding the elf's hair tie around one of his fingers. Wren held his hand out. "Please return that."

"Onleh 'cause ya be such a nice guy," Haa'aji let the fabric unravel from his digit and held it out to Wren. The elf took it, pausing to inspect the earnest smile on Haa'aji's face. Such an odd troll.

After Wren had finished tying his hair back, he arched one of his eyebrows and crossed his arms, though he made no move when Haa'aji patted the spot beside him on the hammock. "Is there something you wanted?"

"Wan'ed?" Haa'aji cocked his head, inspecting Wren carefully. "Ah be wan'in' all kinds a tings, yeh? Doubt ya can do much about most a dem, t'ough."

"So then you just flipped me around to screw with me?"

Haa'aji frowned as he heard someone shout down the hall. His ears twitched, and he looked back at Wren. "Ah don't tink Ah got long, yeh? But Ah got some questions. About de captain ya called in a fava from when ya helped Liila."

"Captain Dawningblade?" Wren hesitated, puzzled for a moment.

"Yeh, him. Wat de fava been fa?"

Wren furrowed his brow. "Why do you care?"

Haa'aji shrugged. "Ah like ta know tings."

"I saved his life," Wren paused, frowning as he remembered what had happened.

"So ya be a hero, den?" Haa'aji leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his chin propped in his hands.

"I..." Wren hesitated and then sat on the hammock across from the troll. "It's complicated."

"Ah be good at followin' stories." Haa'aji looked so genuinely interested...

A random warning struck Wren from the back of his mind. Cloudless had said that Haa'aji and his group had a tendency to play pranks and not realize how they might hurt others. It was the latter part that made Wren uneasy, though he simply brushed it off, figuring the sort of pranks Cloudless had been talking about were like flipping his hammock.

"Well, my brother's best friend lost his fiancé to the Scourge. She was actually one of the first to fall to them, of our people." He hesitated, to see if Haa'aji would still be interested. When he motioned for him to go on, Wren shrugged. "He was convinced that she was still alive, even roped me into a rescue mission with my brother and his fiancé's best friend. Her best friend died, but the rest of us made it back. He seemed to drop my brother as a friend and joined the farstriders."

"'n dis be relatin' ta de cap'ain some way, yeh?"

"Ah, yes. See, the reason the fiancé had joined the farstriders is because the captain was one—a low ranking ranger at the time. He'd been friends with the missing priestess—"

"Whea dis priestess be comin' from?"

"Oh, right…" Wren took in a deep breath. "Sorry, it's a fairly common tale in Silvermoon, so I forget not everyone knows it. Basically, my brother, Adrias and his friend, Gryst'lyn Emberdawn, were considered the worst elves in Silvermoon. Then Gryst'lyn met the love of his life, a priestess called Amaeria something-or-other, and he…he didn't quite become an upstanding citizen, but he was better. He loved her more than anything. Took it hard when she died."

"Ah…"

Wren nodded. "Well, Captain Dawningblade had been childhood friends with Amaeria. She had been on a patrol with him when she disappeared, and apparently there were conflicting reports about how she went missing. It was suspicious. Gryst'lyn decided the captain was at fault, so he joined the farstriders, even as the Scourge marched upon us, just so he could get close enough to kill Captain Dawningblade."

Haa'aji rocked back a little, brow arching as he whistled. "Revenge, den?"

"Something like that." With a sigh, Wren shrugged. "I don't know all the details, but I happened across them before Gryst'lyn could kill Captain Dawningblade, and I saved him."

Haa'aji watched him with an unreadable expression that reminded Wren of Liila for a moment before the troll abruptly stretched his arms out in front of him and then let them rest against his knees. "So... Dis Embadawn eva find out what happen ta his lova? 'n wat happen ta him?"

"He was sent on a scouting mission to redeem himself for attacking a brother in arms and went missing. He's assumed dead. If he did live, though, I'd guess he's still looking for Amaeria. Or maybe he found her." Wren sighed. "I doubt that, though."

"Nah a big believa in love conquerin' all?"

"Not when it's up against necrotic magics and the Lich King." Wren shrugged when Haa'aji seemed disappointed in him. "If you really want all the sordid details, you could try asking my brother, though in fair warning, he's very bitter and doesn't like people in general, especially if they're somehow connected to me."

Haa'aji nodded a little absentmindedly. "Do ya know wat she looked like?"

"The priestess? I never met her...I think he said she was blonde?"

"Ya don' know nuttin' else?"

"Aside from blonde priestess, no." Wren paused and then shook his head.

"Hmm..." Haa'aji considered what the elf had said for a moment. Then, he swung to his feet and stretched his back, his hair brushing the cabin's ceiling. "Ah tink Ah go see what Timmons be up ta, yeh? Ya wanna come?"

"Ah, no..."

The troll shrugged and sauntered out of the room. However, even as the door swung shut behind him, several high pitched goblin voices let out a few shouts. Wren heard Haa'aji cry out and the sound of something heavy—like a troll—slammed into the floor outside. Wren darted to the door and opened it in time to see a few Goblins hoisting an unconscious rogue onto their shoulders and scuttling off down the hall. One paused to glare back at Wren, and the elf slowly closed the door.

Wren reached into the pack on his hip and tapped another mana crystal, though it didn't even begin to take the edge off his nerves. After tapping a few more and wondering what could be making him so stressed out, he paused to consider what Haa'aji had asked about. He hadn't thought of Gryst'lyn and his beloved Amaeria in ages, mostly because he'd had such a minor role in that tragedy.

It didn't take him long to grow tired of that train of thought. While he did find an idle curiosity about what had become of lovers, he didn't want to waste time he could be enjoying by thinking about people who were tied in any way to his brother. However, now that his half-awake ponderings of magic and the like had been broken, he found himself too restless to lay back down.

And he doubted the number of crystals he'd need to tap to calm his nerves would be healthy. Thus, he made sure he was presentable and headed up toward the deck to do some wave watching or in the very least, find someone to talk to.

As Wren emerged from his room and stared toward the deck, Renza'shi was walking by. He caught the elf's arm and shook his head. "Jus' stay down hea today, yeh?"

Wren thanked him for the warning but went to the stairs anyway. He'd barely poked his head onto the deck long enough to see that several goblins had Haa'aji, bound tightly in a rope cocoon, upon their shoulders again and were walking toward the edge of the zeppelin while Gore tried not to get into a yelling match with the aircraft's captain. Not wanting to get involved—and figuring that Gore probably had things under control, or at the very least Sham did—Wren slipped back to the residential section of the dirigible.

~"~

Liila stood in front of one of the doors below deck, arms crossed, and fingernails lightly drumming against her sleeve as she considered what she was about to do. Even as she reached for the door handle, however, she heard a soft sniffle from behind the door.

Her lips dipped into a frown. When she'd been at her worst, she'd hated when people had caught her crying, but then… In the end, they'd always helped her, somehow, someway.

It was time to pay it forward.

Gripping the handle, she hesitated again, thinking better of just striding in the way Haa'aji always did. Instead, she let her knuckles rap against the door twice. As she pushed the door open, she heard a weak, "Not now…"

She let the door swing shut behind her as she stood there, staring at Zeresa. The redhead looked up at her with surprise, then fear, then contempt. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and she looked like hell.

Liila ignored the disdain plain on the sin'dorei's features and walked across the room to sit on the hammock across from her. When she'd settled in, she played with her cuff rather than look at Zeresa. "It took me a while to figure out why you bothered me so."

"You came all the way to tell me you don't like me? How sweet," Zeresa spat the words. "You can leave now."

"I did not like you at first, yes," Liila continued, her voice droning a little as she kept herself from being distracted by the elf's words. "I had horrible nightmares after the day we met. I couldn't understand why just being near you made my skin itch." She looked across the way to see that Zeresa had stilled, eyes wide, afraid. "And then it hit me."

The other elf didn't respond. By the Light, she barely breathed.

Liila considered saying what she'd come to say, but there was no need. Zeresa understood. Instead, she shrugged a little. "Do you truly like Wren? He seems a little hopeless to me."

"He's a good elf," Zeresa snapped, instantly. "He has a sweet heart, and he doesn't deserve what he's been through."

"You really _do_ like him," Liila replied. Even as Zeresa looked confused, Liila hopped to her feet. "Good. I do not know him well—and I am aware his opinion of me is not terribly high at the moment—but he is a guild mate. I will protect him, just as I would any others."

She rummaged through her pockets and then pulled a few leafs form her pocket, offering them to Zeresa. When she didn't take them, Liila carefully set them down near her. "They help with pain, should you find yourself in need."

As she stepped out of the room, she heard that crying resume almost as soon as the door clicked shut behind her. Her brow pinched together, and she almost went back. However, she stopped herself. It wouldn't help.

What _would_ help couldn't be done on a zeppelin.

As she paced down the hall, she felt the temperature drop a few degrees and turned to see Blood standing there, leaning against the wall. When he noticed her attention, he tilted his head back. "I wouldn't suggest going to see her again. You'll tip him off."

"He already knows, I'm sure," Liila shrugged. "I'm fairly certain he can still see through my eyes, as well as hers."

"That may be, but we don't know how much of her free will is bound. If he orders her to attack the zeppelin—"

"I do not think he will," Liila interrupted, stepping over to Blood so that she could drop her voice. "He always liked being able to see the fear in his victims' eyes in person."

A brief silences settled over the two of them before Blood finally motioned to her. "Shadow and I have been looking over your curse." He held his hands up when Liila stiffened. "Roberts gave us the druidic notes on it, so we don't know what pieces you still have." He paused. "I… I don't know that they can all be removed without killing you."

"I thought as much."

"And the ones you put on Gregor and the others likely can't be removed without killing them."

Liila nodded, shifting her weight a little. Gregor still wasn't talking to her because of what she'd done, though the rest of the forsaken seemed surprisingly neutral about having had death runes carved into them.

Well, Timmons hadn't voiced his opinion on it yet, as he wasn't talking to her either.

Haa'aji said that was for the best, but it just made Liila seethe to think that Haa'aji was being too judgmental.

"I had a thought," Blood finally said, his reservations echoed in his voice. He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them, cross them again, and then motioned toward her. "You are welcome to turn me down, but…I think I might be able to adjust your runes in the least."

Liila started to take a step back, but stopped herself.

Blood waited until he was sure she wouldn't flee before he arched an eyebrow. "I could fix them so that you're not in so much pain, so that you automatically heal when you resurrect, too. Then you wouldn't die the same way over and over without heals. I might even be able to remove some of the ones that cause pain. Or…turn them into something else."

Though a small, terrified voice in the back of Liila's head screamed that she turn down the offer vehemently, she couldn't help herself. Tilting her head, she appraised Blood carefully. "Something else?"

~"~

"Sethyl!"

The paladin's ear twitched as he looked up from his holy tome—he'd been reading up on his spells, telling himself he wasn't just looking into how one might remove a curse, even though he seemed to keep flipping over to those pages. He never liked being interrupted from his reading.

Mitchell stood in front of him, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down sightlessly at his guild mate. His lips were curled into a simple, overly innocent looking smile. The mage rocked from his heels to his toes and back a few times, waiting.

"...Yes?"

Mitchell took the single syllable as an invitation and hopped down beside him, his face turning toward Sethyl's book. His smile faltered slightly as Sethyl snapped his tome shut. Something—Mitchell hadn't cared enough to learn what—had happened to Sethyl recently, and the paladin had resumed being the total arrogant prick that he'd been when he first joined the guild. His attitude had left Margaret grumbling about how 'that damn elf had gotten his mace stuck up his ass', and it delighted Mitchell to no end. If only he could ruin Wren's standing with Margaret, life would be good.

However, that was hardly his concern. "So, I've been working on some experiments—" he cut himself off as though expecting to hear someone interrupt him. When no one did, he continued. "I find myself needing some help."

Sethyl eyed him. "What kind of experiments?"

"Oh...this and that. I'm trying to find a cure for the plague," Mitchell shrugged his shoulders, unable to stop his childish grin from lighting up his face. "It's kind of a secret, but I could really use some help."

Sethyl had to say he was pleasantly surprised. Mitchell always seemed a bit too enthusiastic about killing things, to him. "What do I need to do?"

"Drink this." Mitchell held out a small, bubbling green vial.

Sethyl could smell death wafting up from it. It took him a moment before his eyes widened, and one of them twitched. "Is that the plague?"

"Uh, duh?" Mitchell frowned. "I can't move forward with a cure if I don't have anyone to test it on."

"What about Roberts? Or Margaret? Or Gregor or Timmons?" Sethyl had darted from his seat and was well across the room from the forsaken seated on his hammock. "Or try it on yourself."

"Yeah, um...Gregor and Timmons are already a work in progress." Mitchell shrugged as Sethyl stared at him incredulously. "And Roberts keeps stun-locking me and vanishing whenever I get him in a room alone." He paused. "And how can I work with the plague if I'm susceptible to it? You're not dead yet, so I know you have a functioning brain...use it, would you?"

Sethyl had to wonder how much trouble he'd get in if he threw the mage out the window. Mitchell seemed to read his thoughts. The mage abruptly hopped to his feet and cackled. "I'm kidding, you know?" He tilted the vial and let it drop onto his other hand. When nothing happened, he laughed. "It's not really the plague." Even as Sethyl eyed him warily, he trotted toward the door. "I would like some help, though. I mean, paladins are supposed to be good at curing stuff...I think you were talking about it with Liila a while back? Anyway, I would like someone to bounce theory off, and thought maybe you'd be a good candidate."

"I suppose I could listen to your theories," Sethyl murmured, slowly relaxing.

"Awesome, well." the mage edged closer to the door, his hands behind his back again. "Well, I don't really need the help right this instant, but I wanted your permission for later, before...you know, just bombarding you with questions."

Just as he reached the door, it opened, and Wren nearly walked into him. Mitchell let out a startled cry and then forced a smile. "Hey."

"Gonna ask for his help with the plague, too?" Sethyl muttered.

"What? No," Mitchell frowned. "Farstriders aren't known for their prowess in healing." He looked Wren over. "No offense."

"None taken," the elf replied, looking somewhat puzzled.

"Well, I'll be going then...leave you two to...do elf things..." Mitchell raised his eyebrows, and for a moment Wren thought the mage looked like he was afraid he'd mentioned something he shouldn't have. Mitchell caught the curious expression on Wren's face and panicked. He had to keep them from asking the right questions... "So... I probably shouldn't ask, but are you two lovers?" As both elves' jaws dropped, and Wren tried to form a coherent sentence that would ask how such a thought had even entered the mage's head, Mitchell abruptly shrugged. "I dunno. There's some rumors about you elves and your preferences. Not my business, I suppose—"

"'You elves'?" Sethyl hissed.

"We're not lovers," Wren said, point blank. "I'm married, for one. And already committed to Zeresa."

Both Sethyl and Mitchell perked up. "Really?"

As Wren frowned, and considered that he was technically getting that annulled, but that he was still married for the time being, Mitchell edged out into the hall. "Right. Sorry. Um...this is really awkward, so I think I should just...go..."

Mitchell smirked as he sauntered down the hall and heard Sethyl go off into a rant about where the hell that had come from. With luck, the duo would be wondering just who was whispering about them behind their backs and that would distract them for a good long while.

As he made it to the deck, he paused when he noticed Gore standing with his back to him as a few goblins angrily hauled up a rope that looked like something heavy was attached to it. Sham was standing beside Gore, and she frowned as she saw Mitchell come into the open air. Even as she gave him a warning look not to do anything stupid, he merely smiled back and walked to the far side of the deck.

He glanced around as he came to the edge and leaned against the rail. Shadow was near the others, and the goblins were persuading him into helping them with their rope. Mitchell switched his position so that he was leaning with his hands behind his back, back against the rail. His gaze swept the area one more time. He paused when he saw Haa'aji abruptly flip up onto the deck. A few goblins cursed about how he'd gotten out of his ropes, but the troll merely hugged them, and they forgot their earlier curiosity, instead crying out to be set down. As Gore yelled for him to set them down, Mitchell nodded to Haa'aji, holding up one hand to show him Sethyl's mana crystal pouch.

Even as Haa'aji grinned and twirled with the goblins still in his arms, Mitchell gave the area a final once over and tossed the bag over the edge of the deck. He looked back out at the waters, so far below, as the bag fell through the air, its contents spilling out and glistening in the sun before finally plummeting into the icy waters.

He decided to enjoy the tainted, northern air a little while longer before heading back to his room. He did indeed want Sethyl's help with an experiment, not that it had anything to do with the plague. Mitchell found himself whistling a merry tune as he watched a few gulls fly by, a clear indication that their trip was almost over.


	37. Withdrawal

Blood, Lash, and Ta'lim had all been in the middle of setting up their tents for the night when they'd seen something completely inexplicable which had halted their actions in a breath. The three watched as Shadow, a goliath among even the giants of the Horde, stepped silently to the side. Again.

And again.

He noticed them watching him and held a finger up to his lips. It wasn't like any of them could have said anything anyway. They couldn't believe that a fully plated tauren could move so quietly.

Mitchell, however, was too busy inspecting Wren and Sethyl with furrowed brow to notice the shadow that fell over him as the tauren inched over to him. The two elves were desperately flying through the fake mana crystals that Mitchell and Haa'aji had swapped with their real ones during their zeppelin ride. Worse, Sethyl was getting more and more irritable the longer he went without quelling his need for magic. Wren, on the other hand, just seemed to be getting tired.

Mitchell had rather hoped they would have similar side effects for mana withdrawal. As it was, he would need to study far more subjects to see which signs were more telling of an addiction about to spiral out of control. Hopefully it wouldn't vary too greatly.

"What, pray tell, are you up to?"

Mitchell shrieked and whirled around, sending a fireball flying through the air just inches away from Shadow's face, leaving some of his facial fur and mane singed. As Mitchell realized it was not some vicious abomination towering over him, but rather a guild mate, he ground his teeth. "What in the nether is wrong with you?" He paused and glanced around Impervious' camp to see that almost everyone was watching him. However, most simply laughed it off and went back to setting up for the night. As he turned back to Shadow, he didn't notice Wren's gaze linger in his direction. "You don't sneak up on people like that!"

Shadow couldn't hide his grin. "What's got you so captivated?"

Mitchell eyed Shadow for a moment and then looked around for Haa'aji. They wanted to keep their experiment from the elves—since the elves knowing they were being tested and studied would probably not go over well—so they'd agreed to be careful who they told. Margaret or the guild leaders were out of the question. They'd demand the duo cease and desist. However, Shadow was sort of on the fence. After all, he went along with some of their...mishaps and misadventures.

Haa'aji was absent from their gathering. With a frown, Mitchell looked back at Shadow. Should he tell him? Why did that troll have to disappear at the most important times? Haa'aji would be better at gauging the situation...

"Mitchell?"

The mage jumped again, despite himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he was sure that if he were capable, he would have paled. "...Yes, Wren?"

With a faint smile, Wren nodded to him. He looked horrible. Blackish circles encompassed his eyes, making even his eyelids look bruised, and his shoulders were slumped, as though even such a simple action as standing upright was becoming too heavy a burden.

Mitchell shifted his weight as Shadow bit his tongue to keep from commenting on how rough their guild mate appeared. "...Was there something you needed?"

Blinking slowly, Wren paused and then nodded. He reached up and ran his fingers through his stringy bangs. "Yes...sorry. I'm a bit...out of it." He seemed to take a moment to focus on Mitchell's face, as though he was confused to see the straps crisscrossing the mage's face and wondering where he ought to direct his gaze to meet Mitchell's. "I…think someone's playing...tricks." He tried to offer them a smile. "Even after Hallow's End has ended." When Mitchell merely furrowed his brow, Wren paused, gathering his thoughts with effort. "I think someone's placed a curse of exhaustion on me."

Even as Mitchell's eyes widened almost far enough for the empty sockets to be glimpsed behind his bindings, a sharp, disapproving noise came from behind him, and he glanced back at Shadow. However, the death knight merely glared down at him. "Mages can remove curses, can't they?"

Mitchell jumped and whipped his attention back to Wren. "What? Right, of course." Cloudless was generally the one to remove curses during battles, so Mitchell had to fumble through his spell book, all the while wondering why Wren had come to him of all people. Why not Sprocket or Margaret or Genji? Or Zereesa? The little mage was still traveling with them for whatever reason. Or even Sethyl? He glanced toward the paladin to see him kick his tent and send the whole thing collapsing on itself all because he couldn't stretch one of the ties quite far enough to secure the side.

Okay, he could see why Wren might want to avoid Sethyl. Mitchell finally found the spells he was looking for, half hidden beneath a folded page. He paused, remembering how he'd had to remove one of Timmons' curses from Roberts years ago. He'd dog-eared the page back then, in case he ever needed it again. A pity that had been lost among almost a hundred other dog-ears and loose sheets of paper stuffed between pages, each indicating a spell of particular importance to some scenario housed somewhere in the disjointed scribblings across the paper.

Mitchell glanced over them quickly before settling on the strongest of his spells. While he knew Wren's ailment was no symptom of a curse, he didn't want the elf to think he was dismissing his concerns. That might raise suspicions.

However, as soon as the spell had left his lips, his jaw dropped. His spellbook thudded to the ground as Wren did the same.

Wren reeled. Whispers were coming from every direction, even ones that he was certain ought not to exist. The air was thick with magic, as was the ground, the plants crushed beneath his knees, the bodies around him. Everything seemed to have suddenly offered some type of spell or incantation a home, and every last spell was chattering as though it had a voice that could actually be heard.

And he could feel the different magics brushing against him, flowing beneath him, crawling along his skin, curious to see why he was suddenly so in tune with their existence.

Wren wanted to bundle himself up in magic resistance gear and plug up his ears or just mana tap the world into silence and stillness. Even as the soundless voices overwhelmed him, it occurred to him that this was the first time he'd ever seen magic so clearly. It was as though he'd been watching the world through a thick screen, with only little wisps of the ethereal slipping through to him. Now, for whatever the reason, it had all laid itself bare for him. And his senses couldn't handle it.

He thought he recognized a voice. A real one. Glancing up, he could barely make out Margaret's face among the thousands of runes that flickered through the air.

He opened his mouth to tell her to speak up, but magic seeped down his throat, coating his tongue with a sweet taste before continuing down to fill his lungs. Even as he choked on the arcane, he crumpled forward, into the forsakenness' arms.

Margaret shook Wren, her voice decibels above its normal tone. "Wren? Wren?" She looked him over frantically and then snapped a horrified gaze up toward Mitchell. "Light and nether, what did you do?"

Mitchell shook his head, desperate for his word to be true, "N-nothing. Other than remove any curses he might have..."

Gregor knelt at Wren's side, brushing the elf's hair back to see the farstrider had passed out. "Let's get him to his tent—"

"It's not set up yet," Shadow murmured, motioning with his head to the pitiful looking campsite, with the elf's tent still bundled up and only a few supports sticking crookedly from the ground. Mitchell wanted to curse himself for focusing only on the elf and not his surroundings. Wren's fatigue was far worse than he'd expected...but then, it had only been two days since they'd switched his mana crystals for fake ones. Could he really be suffering so quickly?

"Help me get him to mine, then," Gregor murmured, beginning to loop an arm under Wren's shoulders. However, Shadow merely stayed his hand and hoisted the elf up himself, practically cradling the creature with a single arm.

"Lead the way."

As Mitchell gaped at their receding forms, Margaret's voice captured his attention. It was eerily calm. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," Mitchell snapped, a bit too forcefully.

Margaret stood straighter than usual as she watched Shadow lower Wren into Gregor's and Roberts'—who'd come over to help—arms and held the tent flap up so that the duo could drag Wren into the tent and lay him down. She didn't speak until Shadow released the canvas and started back toward them. "If I find out you hurt Wren, I won't forgive you."

She didn't look at him as she resumed her slouch and walked after the others. Cinder got to the tent first and shooed both forsaken out so that she could sit with the farstrider and cast a few healing spells on him. Several other guild mates, as well as Zeresa, had taken to crowding the entrance, asking questions Gregor had no clue how to answer. Before Shadow could get to Mitchell, Gregor called him back, trying to piece together what had happened.

"De hell, mon?"

Mitchell didn't bother to look as he tossed a fire spell over his shoulder. Even when he heard Haa'aji curse something about being lucky to not have eyebrows, Mitchell couldn't muster a smile. "You have to give Wren back his mana crystals."

Haa'aji stepped forward and squatted down beside Mitchell, eyeing the mage and then watching the desperate conversations a few yards away. Sethyl was hanging back, looking as though he wanted to ask what was wrong, but fearing he might simply snap at anyone who wasn't forthcoming fast enough.

"Ah ain't got 'em," Haa'aji shrugged. "Give Sethyl's back. Dey can share 'til we be reachin' anotha Horde outpost. Some sin'dorei can loan dem some dea, Ah be sure."

Mitchell wanted to pull his Mohawk out. "I tossed Sethyl's off the zeppelin. I figured they'd be able to sense the crystals if I was carrying them around and that they'd figure out that theirs were fake. Give them Wren's."

Haa'aji frowned at Mitchell as though he were a child asking to wield his father's sword. "When dem goblins tossed meh ova de side a de zeppelin...Ah dropped Wren's when Ah been untanglin' mahself." Haa'aji turned a critical eye toward Sethyl. "So den. At least we got ah answa, yeh? Dat magic addiction be real, not just in dea heads."

Mitchell's eye twitched. "We have to fix this."

"Ah got it, mon," Haa'aji whispered, disappearing again.

Mitchell was left to himself for a few minutes before Haa'aji was abruptly beside Sethyl, messing with his mana crystal pouch. The paladin snatched it back and then tapped a few in quick succession as soon as they were his again. His relief was almost instant.

Even as the paladin peered down at his mana crystals, clearly confused, Haa'aji disappeared again. Mitchell waited with growing impatience before Haa'aji finally reappeared next to him. "A'ight. I gave two real ones ta Cinda ta give ta Wren when he wake up."

"Where did you get them?"

"Bloodsworn's playt'in'."

Mitchell stopped short, staring blankly at Haa'aji as he tried to think why Liila would have mana crystals. Then, abruptly, a movement caught his eye, and he stood stock still as he watched Zeresa pacing near Wren's tent, hands wringing.

"She's—"

"Yep."

"And we're just…traveling with her?"

"Yep."

Mitchell glanced up at Haa'aji, who was watching the spy with relative disinterest. "Does Liila know?"

"Yep."

"And…anyone else?"

"Buncha diffe'ent people."

"Am I the last to know?"

"Nah," Haa'aji reached over and patted the side of his Mohawk gingerly. "Ah be lettin' ya in de loop befoa Timmons dis time."

Mitchell had to say, he felt pretty important to be included in something before than despicable warlock. Though… Timmons had seemed to have drawn into himself ever since his heartbeat.

Still…

~"~

Adrias Duskflame had barely been sober since little Liila's adventures in Silvermoon.

While, yes, his brother's attack—in public no less—had left him in a rather fickle mood, truth be told he was unsettled and upset well before that.

When he'd set up Liila to arrive early, he hadn't really cared if something terrible happened. Misunderstandings, dismemberment, death. It hadn't meant much. One less quel'dorei to mar the world with their presence.

He'd been nigh giddy when he'd shown up and heard the conflict going on near the translocation orb. He would have joined the fun, or so he'd thought, until those idiot ambassadors had run over to help.

As they'd lectured the blood knight and spoken to the high elf in soft voices, Adrias had slipped close enough to see her, and the second he had, his world had started to crack.

He hadn't gotten a good look at her, but from what he'd seen…

Liila had looked like a ghost from his past.

Despite trying to convince himself to untangle himself from the mess he'd caused, he hadn't gotten far, instead lurking in the Sunspire courtyard, waiting. He hadn't even realized he'd been watching the exit from the Spires until the ambassadors had entered into the city with a sin'dorei on their heels.

There had been a few inconsistencies from his memory. While he'd only seen her once or twice, that face had been ingrained into his memory.

She was thinner, sharper than she used to be, her hair shorter, expression muted, but it was her.

Amaeria Lightswill.

Gryst'lyn Emberdawn's long lost fiancé.

Adrias despised Amaeria completely. He'd wished for her death so many times over, figuring she deserved it for stealing his best friend, the only person in the entire world who understood him. He'd wished for her to meet countless horrid ends, and then when she had…

When she'd been lost to the Scourge, Gryst'lyn had refused to accept it. He'd been so fucking dedicated. Once they'd failed to save her, he'd left.

Left the city, their people, Adrias.

He'd gone into the Plaguelands and never returned.

While many had assumed him dead, Adrias knew better. Whatever staggering odds Gryst'lyn had faced, he still drew breath.

Adrias knew.

After all, he'd soulstoned him.

Adrias glanced down at the blackish-purple stone resting in his palm, turning it idly and watching the ethereal flicker of light from deep within it.

Gryst'lyn still drew breath, for his soul was content to stay with Adrias. Or perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps if Gryst'lyn knew the truth about where his soul was, he'd be furious at the warlock, but Adrias couldn't bring himself to care.

If there was one person in this world that deserved to live, to have a second chance at life, it was Gryst'lyn.

He deserved everything.

And yet…

And yet when Adrias thought about Amaeria, about Gryst'lyn wrapping his arms around her, taking her in his bed, resuming their happy march to the altar, it made his skin crawl.

A good friend would let him know. A _good_ friend would track him down and tell him that his fiancé yet lived. A good friend would reunite them, and bask in the warmth of their rekindled love.

A good friend would do a lot of things. Adrias had struggled to be mediocre at best. With a ragged breath, he poured himself another shot of whiskey and kept drinking.

~"~

Wren felt like he was swimming through muck. Loud, angry muck filled with cicadas and tree frogs and all manners of noisy insects, each one swarming around his head and trying to crawl into his ears. To make sure they'd be the last thing he ever heard.

Most of them sounded off-key, like they were musical instruments who had been tuned wrong. While they waltzed through their regular songs, the entire melody was askew, bastardized and demented.

And then, there was a single, soft chime in the din that struck a pure note. Wren strained his ears, trying to hear it better, but it made no difference. However, the din had begun to change, with that single chime. Instead of insects, he could hear…he wasn't sure. It wasn't a voice per se, though it did remind him of the magics that flowed through Eversong.

The ones that had come with the Scourge.

A terror struck him that he was being risen and even as he tried to find the strength to raise his hands and wrench away the magics that would strip his soul of its dying graces and trap him in an eternal hell, the chime sounded again. Closer.

No. It was the same distance as before, but it was somehow more.

The angry stirrings around him seemed to grow frantic, grasping at him with tendril-like wisps of magic. As the ethereal fingers clung to his being, the chime came again. This time, it was merely the start of a soft melody, a crescendo of purer and purer notes, steadily building to a forte and drowning out the necrotic spells that had seeped into the very soil beneath him.

Wren blinked slowly, surprised to find that it was not angels hovering over him, but merely a rough burlap tent.

With a groan, he reached up to his head and tried to sit up, though a hand quickly caught his shoulder and pushed down. While he felt he could have easily overcome the pressure, he acquiesced to its will and continued to lay on his back.

It took him a moment to realize he could hear soft humming coming from somewhere to his side. He slowly turned his head to see Tizzle sitting beside him, lips turned in the faintest of smiles as he continued his faint melody. The little goblin was obviously tone deaf, but somehow it didn't matter. His hymn still held a pure ring to it, and it set Wren's soul at ease.

When Wren looked at him, he could have sworn the goblin turned a lighter shade of green, though he quickly recovered and offered him a smile. Tizzle nodded to him, abruptly dropping his song. "Glad to see ya made it, friend."

Wren felt the cascade of gentle magic taper off and realized that his guild mate must have been channeling a priest spell. He paused, waiting for something to happen. For the other magics to overwhelm him again, for his fatigue to come back tenfold.

Instead, nothing happened.

"Made it?"

Tizzle opened his mouth to reply and then hesitated, glancing toward the flap of the tent. With a sigh, he shrugged. "Somethin' happened ta ya mana crystals. We ain't sure when, but we think Haa'aji was behind it. No proof, of course." He hesitated. "Ya went inta pretty bad withdrawal, there."

Frowning, Wren pushed himself up into a sitting position, pausing to wave away Tizzle's second attempt to keep him lying down. He could feel the death magics all around them, yet somehow, he was able to tune out most of them, to listen to only the crystalline tinkles of shadows dancing across the landscape and light playing through clouds. The arcane was rich to the west, as well, though he didn't try to reach for it to quell his thirst for magic.

Rather, he didn't have much of a thirst for it at all.

Even before the fall of the Sunwell, he had never felt this sated. Tizzle continued on, saying that there was no rush to rejoin the others, but when Wren felt ready, they would head out, and that as the guild officer in charge of guild disputes, he would be willing to bring penalties down against whoever it was who had done this, so soon as the culprit was discovered.

However, Wren could barely keep his mind on what the goblin was saying. Instead, he felt a few lost strands of life winding through the air about them, and he longed to see them, to know whether they were merely remnants of Tizzle's spells, or actual life attempting to reclaim its lost continent.

Tizzle was just beginning to awkwardly ask Wren to keep in mind that not everyone was to blame and that Impervious would do everything in their power to make amends and 'fix' this travesty, when Wren reached his hand forward and clasped it around the lonesome spell whispering to him.

As he cupped his hand and turned it so that it was palm up, his fingers curling toward the sky, a small light flickered just above his skin. It lasted barely a second before it escaped his reach, but that was enough to cut Tizzle off in the middle of his sentence and leave him slack-jawed.

Wren didn't notice. Furrowing his brow, he focused again, calling the light back to him. It seemed hesitant to answer his call at first. However, Tizzle tapped his shoulder and arched an eyebrow as Wren gave him an irritated look.

The goblin spoke a single word.

At first, Wren didn't understand why he would be casting a healing spell. And then it dawned on him. Looking back to his palm, Wren repeated the word, and the light flashed in front of him, brighter this time.

Wren had cast the spell almost a dozen more times before large green hands clasped his and forced his attention to his guild mate. "Ya gonna wear yaself out, kid. The rest of the guild headed out west ta deal with some weird magic stuff goin' on in a place called Coldarra. We'll meet up with 'em when ya feelin' a bit better. No rush, though."

Even as Wren tried to protest, he suddenly realized that he felt like passing out again. He slumped forward, though he drew his knees up so he could lean on them. This didn't make any sense. How had a near death experience transformed him in such a profound way? How was this possible?

Turning his gaze toward Tizzle, the goblin was surprised to see an earnest awe on the elf's face. "You'll teach me, won't you? To use magic?"

Tizzle blinked at him twice before a grin swept across his features. "Sure thing. I'll even give ya the first few lessons free, since the guild nearly killed ya and all." Wren could barely contain his enthusiasm as he nodded. His goblin caretaker, however, fixed him with a stern look. "Now lay down and get some rest, ya hear me? I ain't gonna be responsible for ya tired ass fallin' off ya bird when we go ta catch up. And neither will Howl or Margaret—they stayed back, too. They're around somewhere, probably findin' us dinner."

Even as Wren lay back down, he paused thinking back over what the goblin had been saying earlier. As much as he wanted to settle in and listen to the soft chimes and rhythms of magic around him, the ones that whispered that hope was never more than a breath away, something Tizzle had said was finally sinking in.

"What was that about fixing something?"

Tizzle's mouth formed a thin line, and his ears flattened slightly. "Oh. That." He paused as though debating actually saying anything. "Ya might wanna rest up before we talk about that, actually."

Wren frowned. "Now I have to hear it."

"No, really—"

"If you don't tell me," Wren sat back up. "I'm going to worry about it, and I won't be able to sleep. And then I _will_ fall off my 'bird'."

Tizzle sucked in a slow breath, obviously wishing to continue dancing around the subject. When Wren arched his eyebrows, he finally sighed. "Let's just say Liila ain't the only high elf of the Horde, anymore."

~"~

Lash's mount loped up beside Gore's, and he waved to get his attention, nodding toward his uncle when Gore finally looked his way. As his guild leader pulled on his own worg's reins, slowing to a pace that would allow him to talk, Lash felt a coil of unease in his gut.

When he'd told Gore about his name, his uncle had been so proud. Lash could have sworn the old orc nearly cried, though he'd kept such emotions in check and thumped his fist against his chest instead. Now, whenever Gore looked at Lash, there was a new sense of pride there, a glimmer in his eyes.

Gregor was not so pleased. He'd nearly gone off about fighting Alliance, terror plain in his voice, but Sham and Margaret had managed to drag him away before he could say anything that might belittle Lash's achievements.

Truly, all of the guild seemed proud of him. Gregor had later told him that he was happy he'd found himself a name. Lash had been most surprised to see the old bag of bones bow his head and apologize for his earlier actions, whispering something about forgetting himself.

Lash had accepted the apology graciously.

Gregor hadn't said much to him since, though.

However… it was hard to say if that was because of what Lash had done, or because of what Liila had done.

Whatever it was, he wasn't very well versed, but it seemed to have shaken Gregor to his core. His guild leader wasn't talking to Liila at the moment. By the ancestors, he seemed barely capable of looking at her.

As the two of them dropped back through the group until they were well behind the rest, Lash arched his brow, his stone gripped firmly in his palm as he tried not to panic. What if the tension was between him and Gregor after all? What if he was in trouble? Surely, he couldn't be. "If you wanted to talk, you could have just said something."

"I needed it to look like you wanted to talk to me," Gore replied, leaning forward in his saddle. When Lash cocked his head, Gore took in a weathered breath. "You know I am proud of you, yes?"

Lash hadn't been expecting that. He fumbled through an affirmative, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, darkening them a few shades of green.

"You know that I think you are an integral part of our group and that I would never think you anything other than worthy, yes?"

Tension crept through Lash's shoulders. "What's this about?"

Taking in a deep breath, Gore closed his eyes and held up a hand, all but commanding Lash to stay put for whatever explanations or lectures he had in mind. "I need you to leave the guild."


	38. A Nerubian Assault

Khai’rhi pushed herself up from where she’d landed in the dirt, wincing a little as a soft ache spread through her lower back and abdomen. For the last few weeks, she’d been overwhelmed several times by waves of fatigue that made little to no sense. One minute she’d be fine, the next she’d be leaning against something or slouching lower to her mount, waiting for dizziness to wear off.

It was bizarre, and as a healer, she’d yet to figure out what was causing it. A cold perhaps? Of all the times to get sick, this had to have been one of the worst.

She spat out a bit of dirt as she peered up. They’d been making good time toward Coldarra when suddenly she’d been in the air, along with most of her guild. She’d used a bit of wind magic to break her fall, as well as anyone in the near vicinity, though it hadn’t seemed particularly successful.

Maybe it had worked better on the others.

She cast a quick heal on herself and then stood up, shaking her head to get more small rocks and clumps of earth out of her hair.

Their group had been heading been on the road—so to speak, as there were almost no actual roads here in Northrend, it seemed—for almost a week, charging on to try to help Dalaran mages deal with some issues going on with the blue dragon flight. Impervious had been heading across the plains, with a few of their more childish guild members racing their mounts to see who could beat who—of course Haa’aji was on his damned flying ghost horse, so he was running in circles over the rest of them.

Or… he had been.

Khai’rhi peered up toward the sky, searching for the rogue, only to scowl when she instead found a few of those flying nerubian monsters flapping overhead. She cast a chain lightning at a small group of them, and her mood worsened when it didn’t immediately drop them from the sky.

She’d forgotten how tough new creatures could be.

There was always that miserable shift when going to a new place, where one had to examine their spells and retailor them to be effective against the unique resistances that developed based on where a creature lived. She’d thought Winterspring would have prepared her for Northrend, but that was proving to be far from the case.

Considering she was one of the guild’s healers, she opted not to try to tinker with her lightning spell here, instead focusing on locating her allies and healing them.

An arrow flew into another of the monsters as her gaze dropped just as the aggravated insect turned toward her. The despicable thing dropped from the sky like a rock. When Khai’rhi afforded herself a glance in the direction the arrow had come from, she saw Ta’lim a few yards away. He waved to her and then refocused on downing their enemies.

She felt a slight swell of pride in her chest. Ta’lim was a damned good shot. Always had been.

As Khai’rhi shifted back to healing, and Ta’lim felt a wave of nature magic wash over him like a gentle pat on the back, he couldn’t help a small smile. It was short lived.

There were so many of those damned flyers. Normally, he’d have gotten into a little bit of a competition with Lash, seeing how many of them each of the hunters could pick off before one of the casters started in.

They would keep score, and the one with the higher score would buy the other a drink—kept them from getting too full of themselves, they’d always joked.

Normally, it would have been fun trying to work with a partner, enjoying the occasional, playful quip about how well they were doing and how their aim was for the day.

Normally, Lash would have been there, period.

But he wasn’t.

He’d…

What had even happened?

Lash had left the guild. Ta’lim had tried to talk to him about it, but…he’d gotten so angry when Ta’lim tried to follow him, insisting this was for the best and that there was nothing left to say, that his mind was made up.

Was it because he’d gotten his name? Because he’d gotten to fight against the Alliance and decided that was more worthwhile? Was it something else?

Ta’lim hadn’t done anything, had he?

He and Lash were close. They always had been. He’d noticed Lash had seemed a bit down lately, but he’d figured it would pass once they were back to their adventuring. After all, everyone got a little restless when things went sideways or slowed down, but all that waiting around Orgrimmar for the expeditions heading north to get underway had been the lull before the storm.

They’d known it would pick up soon.

And they’d come all the way out here. Why leave before anything could really start?

None of it made any sense.

Ta’lim shot the last of the venom-spitters from the sky and then looked around. The rest of the guild had been working on downing a rather large, scarab-like nerubian and a few of the more spindly ones like what they’d seen in Stratholme, forever ago.

With a whistle, he directed his attention to picking off a few of the smaller enemies. However, he’d downed two when it occurred to him that Rapta was not listening to him.

He whistled again.

Nothing.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he stood up out of his hunch to get a clearer view of the area. Rapta was nowhere in sight.

His brow pinched together before he finally shook himself out of his stupor and went back to fighting. He’d look for Rapta after the dust had settled, even though he had a curl of dread nestled in the pit of his stomach that he was going to need a new pet.

Again.

With everything else happening, it seemed like the loa could have taken at least a little bit of mercy on him.

But then, that’d never been his luck, had it?

As an arrow thudded into a rampaging nerubian, Renza’shi beheaded the one next to it, sighing as both of them collapsed before they could tackle him.

His muscles were aching from all the swinging and spinning and general chaos of the battle.

While he was used to fighting, he hadn’t expected Impervious to be nearly this good, or for them to be attacked with such a force so soon into their adventures. He’d intended to part ways with them as soon as the zeppelin had landed—indeed he’d actually leapt off the damned thing before it’d even come to a full stop. However, he’d been more than a little mortified to find that some of Blood and Honor had come over with Garrosh Hellscream to help out around Warsong Hold.

He’d thought that, taking the first public zeppelin over, he’d have a head start on everyone he wanted to get away from. And then when it had been cluttered with Impervious, he’d decided that if they went east, he’d go west, if they went north, he’d go east.

It had been a long time since he’d been on his own, but he’d wanted to give himself time to rediscover himself, to decide what it was he really, truly wanted to do with his life.

Obviously fighting would be involved. He was nothing without a good, heavy blade in his arms.

And yet, as soon as he’d arrived, Embry had been there. She’d made some annoying comment about how he seemed a little lost. Poor wayward soul.

Something like that.

Then, she’d had the gall to assume he was there to try and beg Taknar for a place in the guild again.

In his anger, he’d done something stupid. He’d declared that he was there to work with Impervious, that he enjoyed being with them, was thinking about applying for the guild.

Margaret had overheard him, and she and Liila had hugged Renza’shi’s arms as they expressed how glad they were to have such a handsome troll in their midst.

The way Embry’s eyes had glazed over _had_ been amusing.

And honestly, Impervious wasn’t _that_ bad. Aside from Haa’aji, he actually liked most of them.

He heaved his axe up over his shoulder and charged toward the nearest monster, swinging easily and working with Shadow and Blood, who were focused on death gripping all the smaller nerubian into a group to make for easier fighting. Their small area lit up as a chain heal bounced through them. Renza’shi found himself with more energy than before—he must have been hit somewhere without realizing it.

As the last of the nerubian fell, the three melee turned in time to see the crypt lord that was leading the assault against them towering up over their group. As he and the others turned to run back, he abruptly found tendrils of light wrapping around him. Before he could register what was happening, he was jerked to the side very abruptly. It was as though he’d unwillingly charged, and the shift in everything was horribly disorienting. He nearly fell into Wren.

Tizzle had grabbed Shadow and cursed as the tauren seemed just as unstable on his hooves, teetering to one side and almost squishing the small healer.

Blood narrowly managed to dive out of the way before the crypt lord could land on him and then looked up to scowl at Haa’aji, who was resting on top of the dead monster, idly inspecting his daggers as though he hadn’t almost crushed his guild mates. Roberts was up there with him, both of them doing a piss poor job of hiding their smirks.

Had they purposely toppled the damn thing where it had landed?

Was Haa’aji trying to kill Renza’shi?

Surely, he wasn’t _that_ big of a prick…

“Could you watch it?” Blood snapped, gaze snapping around. When he found what he’d been worried for, he rolled his eyes. His eerie ‘pet’, Gobber, limped up to him. With a clench of his fist, death runes lit up on the ghoul and healed the worst of its injuries. It let out a happy gurgle and shuffled to a stop beside him, idly watching as the troll rogue slipped down the side of the giant bug and trotted toward Shadow and the others, completely ignoring Blood’s foul mood.

“De fuck been dat, mon?” Haa’aji asked as he came to a stop in front of Renza’shi and the others. “Now de priestehs be grippin’ people like de death knights been doin’? Ya gotta steal all dea tricks, eh?”

“Would ya rather we let our guild mates die?” Tizzle snapped, crossing his arms pointedly.

Wren was too busy making little lights flicker and fade over his palm to pay attention to the argument. Renza’shi eyed him. He’d known more than a few elves who were easily distracted by spells, but Wren was on a whole other level.

Oblivious to the way a few of his guild mates were eyeing him, Wren kept at his conjuring. Since his recovery, he felt like he had an endless font with which to cast.

He had magic.

More than that, he felt like it had always been there, just beneath the surface. It was as though there’d been something blocking it, like ice over the top of a lake. His magic had been able to stir and twist, but never reach through the top layer.

Now, though…

Ever since Mitchell had cast that remove curse spell…

Fucking hell, his brother had cursed him, hadn’t he?

It would figure that that ass would have done this to him. Had it been because having a light wielder in the family would have ‘ruined’ the Duskflame name? Or was it something else? Had little Adrias been too afraid of competition for their parents’…affection wasn’t really the word Wren was looking for, but it was the closest he could think of.

He conjured another light, watching it glimmer and sparkle.

Whatever Adrias’ motivations had been, it didn’t matter now. The damage had been undone, and Wren was free to be who he’d always meant to be.

A caster. A priest.

He could use _magic_.

“Not dat it ain’ fun ta see ya ‘n de elfeh be back wit’ us,” Haa’aji said, noting how Wren still looked a more than a little out of it, with dark circles under his eyes—though the more startling part of the elf’s features was that Wren’s eyes were sort of a turquoise, and Haa’aji wondered if he’d be considered a high elf or a blood elf now, or if maybe he was a new kind of elf, since all those elves seemed so weird when it came to eye color—and instead let his gaze wander. “But Ah been kinda expectin’ any priesteh spells ta be Liila’s doin’, nah ya’s.”

Sethyl and Howl trotted over to them as well, scanning their surroundings. Neither looked like they’d had much trouble during the fighting, with barely any scratches on their armor to show, even though Haa’aji knew damned well that both of them had been fighting just as hard as the rest of them.

Curious.

Howl was the one to speak. “Where _is_ Liila?”

Rolling his eyes, Haa’aji sent out a quick message on his guild stone. It was so like Howl to worry about pointless things. After all, Liila couldn’t die. What did he think could go wrong?

Haa’aji stood there, bored, waiting for a response. When nothing happened, he straightened up a little, sending another. Blood had tinkered with Liila’s death runes and supposedly, she was even less susceptible to death than she’d been before. He wondered if the same thing could be done to him.

He’d always known she’d done something to him—he’d been in too many weird situations where he knew he shouldn’t have lived, and yet had. While he wondered if he’d actually trust Blood to carve him up into a perfect soldier, the death knight hadn’t offered to extend the courtesy to anyone aside from Liila thus far, and so Haa’aji hadn’t asked about it.

There would be time.

After all, he was immortal now.

When his latest comment still failed to warrant a response from Liila, he straightened up a bit further. This repeated until he was finally standing at his full height, debatably as tall or even an inch taller than Shadow.

His brow was low as he scanned the area, gaze flickering over every moving form. Then, he turned and scrambled back up on top of the crypt lord. Roberts was already there, quietly counting guild mates. Haa’aji’s movements were progressively more panicked with each second that ticked by. “We be missin’ a buncha people,” he called down. Then he scrawled out a quick message that would flicker across every single guild stone.

_Roll call. Now._

~”~

Cloudless’ ear twitched when he heard his guild stone chime. Skybow had heard it as well, and Cloudless wondered if it would start another fight. They were in such a delicate place in their relationship right now…he didn’t want to mess things up before they could have an honest conversation.

Well, they’d already had more than a few of those, truth be told, but he was still afraid. Skybow had admitted to having been on the verge of heading to Orgrimmar to find Cloudless when their city had been attacked by the Alliance.

Both of them were too smitten with the other to let things fall apart, especially after so long.

There had to be some middle ground they could reach, where both of them could be happy with their lives. That was why he’d stayed; he wanted to find that place before any irreparable damage could be done.

Things had been going well since he’d come home. Northrend could wait, at least for now. As much as he wanted to keep the world safe, what good did it do if the people he wanted to protect felt like their world was falling apart anyway?

“They need you?” Skybow asked. His voice sounded like he was trying to be pleasant, despite the strain that came with it.

The two of them were sitting beside the small pond in Thunder Bluff, fishing. While neither of them were particularly good at it, they’d decided to try something new. Cloudless found that it was surprisingly relaxing. It helped that some new type of fish needed to be caught and removed from the pond, as well. It was always good to keep the natural order in balance.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I thought…” Skybow hesitated as his bobber went down. He started reeling in his catch. Unlike Cloudless, he seemed to have picked up the skill a bit faster. Perhaps he was lucky…or had actually done this sort of thing before and had just gone with the suggestion when it’d popped into Cloudless’ head, not wanting to ruin what was so clearly an attempt to bond.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, forget I asked.”

“No,” Cloudless replied, turning to face him, ignoring as his line tugged a little. “Tell me.”

After a brief internal debate, Skybow finally motioned toward Cloudless. “You said you turned your stone off.”

“I did.”

“Then why are we hearing it?” Skybow seemed worried as soon as he asked. “I understand they’re your friends, I just… I was wondering how it works, I guess.”

“Oh…” Cloudless scratched at his mane. “Well, it’s more mage-y, so I don’t know the technical bits, but…” He pulled his stone out. “We scrawl whatever message we want to send on the stone, and it sends. You can direct it to send to specific people, or everyone in the guild.” He paused before adding, “I tried to give you one a few years back, but you weren’t interested. I’d thought…it would be a nice way to keep in touch, while I traveled.”

Skybow nodded slowly, gaze never leaving the stone. There was a hint of contempt glinting in his eyes, though he was clearly fighting against it. “And it makes noise when you get a message?”

“Yes.” Cloudless hesitated and then tapped it a few times, checking the volume. “I know I turned it down. Maybe I jostled the sound back on somehow or…” He paused. The volume was still on silent. “That’s…not good.”

“What happened?”

“It’s still off.” Cloudless shifted, oblivious as something dragged his fishing pole into the pond. Skybow watched it disappear beneath the water, mouth agape, before looking back at his lover. Cloudless’ lips were twisted into a frown. “The only thing that could have made the noise when it’s off is an emergency roll call.”

“A what?” It was Skybow’s turn to frown.

“If something’s happened and they can’t find everyone, they’ll do roll call to make sure everyone is accounted for and to see if anyone’s trapped or lost or needs help or a summons. That sort of thing. If someone doesn’t answer, they’ll know there’s a problem. I think the mages know how to track magic in the guild stones or something.”

Skybow nodded, taking in the information. “So…it’s pretty bad if they have to do that?”

With an eye roll, Cloudless shook his head. “Knowing the guild, Haa’aji probably got distracted by something shiny, and a few others went with him to explore. Now, they’re needed and too preoccupied with their adventures to answer a regular call.”

He couldn’t help a smile. This sort of thing happened all the time. No one had ever actually been hurt, except for once, during their raid against in Zul’Gurub. Ta’lim had been mind controlled and had nearly taken out two of their guild mates before the others had been able to find them and break the spell.

“Do you think they need their druid healer?”

“They’ve got Cinder.”

Skybow shifted his weight a little. “Do you…need to check in?”

“They know I’m not with them. I’ll be fine.” Cloudless slipped his stone back into his pocket. In truth, he hadn’t meant to bring it with him. It was just such a habit to grab it before he headed anywhere. Even as Skybow nodded and allowed himself a small smile, Cloudless frowned, looking around the spot they were sitting at. “Where’s my fishing pole?”

~”~

Adrias frowned as he heard someone call out to him—really, they’d said, ‘Hey, warlock,’ and he didn’t feel that such a generic title deserved an answer—and slouched his shoulders a little further, like it might make him less noticeable.

He would have no such luck.

“Warlock!”

He was tempted to summon his felguard and let it play with whoever was bothering him. Instead, he turned slowly to see who would honestly stop him in the middle of the street. As his gaze swept the area, he stopped when he saw two paladins coming up to him.

If this was some attempt at cleaning up the streets—the order did that occasionally, though it never lasted and had just given them the reputation of being uptight dicks—then Adrias had to wonder what he’d done to catch their attention. They weren’t some of those twits that got upset when they saw ‘dark and brooding’ individuals, were they?

Couldn’t an elf frown and hate the world in peace without some sappy light-lover coming up and trying to insist he learn how to enjoy life?

After all, he enjoyed it just fine—in all the ways that made the light-lovers cry.

The elf who had called out to him was a blonde with a tawny complexion. He seemed as full of himself as most blood knights were, and Adrias was tempted to curse him just to whittle away at the confidence in his step. The elf beside him was familiar, however.

She had brown, curly hair, and a worried look in her eyes. Where had he seen her before?

“Ralarr, I don’t think he wants to be bothered…”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” Ralarr quipped, quickly redirecting his attention to Adrias. “We’re trying to form a group to go to Northrend. We’ve got tank and heals. All we need is a few hard hitters.”

Adrias stared at him.

Just stared.

He waited until the paladin finally began to shift his weight a little before he tilted his head. “So you’re just…wandering up to people in the street, asking them to join your group?”

The lady elf looked embarrassed beyond all reason. Where had he seen her before? It was needling at his consciousness. “Let’s just go to the message boards and put up a notice—”

“I don’t see why you have to be so rude about it,” Ralarr declared, despite his companion’s growing discomfort. “You looked like you were heading to the Spire, so why not go with others.”

“You realize there are all kinds of things in this direction, other than the translocation orb, yes?” Adrias replied curtly. “You would do well to listen to your friend about accosting people on the street, Miss…?”

Before she could answer, Ralarr scoffed. “No one _accosted_ you. It was a simple question.” He made a mock bow. “Sorry for wasting your precious time, warlock.”

The woman’s gaze widened slightly as she tried not to look at either of them, tugging her friend away, even as he looked ready to keep going.

Adrias was surprisingly disappointed not to be able to make the connection as to where he’d seen the lady elf before. He hadn’t slept with her…

He dismissed the confusion, choosing instead to get back on task.

Having spent the last few weeks thinking over all the things he’d done wrong with his life and finding very little that he actually regretted, Adrias had come to one conclusion: he _would_ regret not telling Gryst’lyn about Amaeria’s reemergence. Gryst’lyn was the only friend he’d ever truly had—the only one he wanted—and it would not do to treat the one person he cared about unjustly.

Thus, he’d used a scrying crystal to locate his dear friend and had been appalled to find that of course Gryst’lyn was in Northrend. It would figure. No one could ever be anywhere easily reached. That would be too simple.

He’d started investigating the fastest way to Northrend and had been resigned to a month’s long zeppelin trip when he’d caught wind that there was some sort of diplomatic excursion going to Dalaran, of all places.

While he’d remembered Dalaran being south of Silvermoon, he’d done some digging and learned that the city had disappeared—literally. There was now a gaping hole in the ground where it had once been. More than that, it had relocated to—drum roll—Northrend.

That hardly seemed like the most practical thing to do, with putting oneself in the direct reach of a monstrous army that one had narrowly avoiding succumbing to before, but then, Adrias didn’t really care why mages did what they did.

However, Dalaran had relocated fairly close to where the scrying crystal had said Gryst’lyn was.

Thus, if Adrias could get in on the mission going there, he could get to Gryst’lyn without having to deal with idiots like those two paladins.

If not…he’d figure something out. Maybe he could blackmail a magister who had the old portal to the city.

That would take him to the current location, not the crater, right?

He mused quietly as he entered into the Sunspire and wound his way through the halls, ignoring any glances his way. Most were deterred by the assuredness of his steps, figuring he had sanctioned business there. He ignored the few who stepped toward him, trying to ask his purpose.

It wasn’t until he was standing in front of one of Lor’themar’s private viewing rooms that he finally had to speak his piece. With boredom dripping from his tone, he expressed how he had been sent by his coven to assist with the Dalaran excursion.

That made the guards glance at one another. “I didn’t think mages and warlocks got along particularly well.”

“You thought wrong. It’s a good thing you’re not in charge of anything important then, isn’t it?” Adrias replied curtly, a friendly enough smile in place. As the guard bristled, he tugged on his sleeves. “If you do not wish my coven’s assistance in Silvermoon matters anymore, then we can easily remove ourselves.”

It wasn’t nearly his place to speak on behalf of his coven, but considering it had been _their_ idea to siphon from the demons and _their_ abilities that had all but created the blood elves as they were now, there wasn’t a soul in this city who would be quick to get rid of them.

Sure enough, the guard shifted his weight and then whispered to his fellow soldier. The second one nodded and slipped into the room they were guarding. The first glanced at Adrias a few times, but made sure not to keep eye contact for long.

When the door finally opened, Adrias swept in before he was properly invited and gave the few inside a quick, joyless smile. “Gentlemen. Shall we discuss preparations?”

~”~

Leafless heard the ping from her stone, though she made no attempt to reach for it. She stood in the Noxious Glade, waiting for Bloodsworn. As her tail swished slowly behind her, she heard footsteps coming her way.

She didn’t need to look to know it was him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” she started, turning and walking toward her fellow death knight.

Was it just her, or did his armor seem to gleam a bit harsher than usual? It was as though his entire outfit was somehow darker.

Like there was a shade darker than black.

Dismissing it, she realized that he was waiting for her to finish her statement. She strode over to him, stopping a few paces short so that she didn’t completely tower above him. “It was easier. When the Lich King controlled us.” She hesitated, gaze dipping down to inspect the brown, lifeless grass between them. “I miss it.”

~”~

Gore ran his hand down his face, trying not to shake with rage.

And fear.

Sham was missing. Sham, Liila, Wrachette, Gregor, Margaret, and Enlyhn had gone missing during the fighting, and none of them were answering the roll call.

When they’d first been attacked, the nerubian had come up from underneath the earth, spraying dirt and the guild into the air. They’d recovered quickly and fought well, or so Gore had thought.

Now, with them missing over a fifth of their guild, he couldn’t consider it much of a victory.

The ground had mostly caved where it had initially ruptured, but there was a small opening that Khai’rhi, Whisper, and Cinder were working on expanding and reinforcing with magic. There had been a brief terror that the missing few had been buried alive or crushed, but Shadow and Blood hadn’t been able to find any humanoid bodies present that hadn’t been around for at least a year or more.

Northrend was truly built upon corpses, it seemed.

More than that, Blood had felt the presence of death runes during the attack, though he couldn’t place them on any of the enemies who had been killed. Either a death knight or a death knight’s pet had led the assault against them.

That sang of Bloodsworn.

Especially considering Liila was one of the ones missing.

Well…Liila was gone, but Zeresa wasn’t. She was still with the rest of them, timidly offering help to those she could, and staying near Wren, commenting on his eyes and how crazy it was that he could have been purified. She seemed almost envious.

Regardless, even if Bloodsworn wasn’t in charge of the attack, some death knight was.

Gore and Howl had already made the decision. The guild was going to split up. Part of them would head to Coldarra as planned. A few would go with Shadow to seek out the Knights of the Ebonblade and see about getting help finding out just what the status was on this frozen hellscape. The rest of them would head down into the earth to retrieve their missing guild mates.

Gore would be leading that group, of course. After all, he couldn’t very well go on without Sham by his side.

And if anything happened to her, there would be hell to pay.

~”~

With a heavy sigh, Ta’lim reached out and half-heartedly patted the nose of the rhino standing idly before him, his newest pet. Part of him didn’t even want to name this one, figuring that it’d be gone in a month or two at most.

Ta’lim wondered if perhaps he should give up on the whole pet aspect of being a hunter. Wren had done a good job without, and Ta’lim was good enough with his bow that he didn’t really _need_ a pet to pull his weight in a group…

As his shoulders slumped, Khai’rhi reached out and patted his arm. “It be okay, yeh? Dis one gonna last.”

“Mebbeh,” Ta’lim muttered, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. His little pet, the phoenix hatchling, chirped from where it’d taken to resting on his head. He reached up and lightly patted its flaming form. It was almost hot enough to scorch, but not quite.

He’d meant to leave it behind in someone’s care, but hadn’t been able to find anyone willing to let a tiny firebird stay in their homes. While he fretted something horrible might befall the little bird, he had faith that it would be okay.

The little creature—he’d named it Firefly—seemed to be getting warmer, ever since they’d made it to Northrend. Perhaps it was just the cold’s contrast to its little fire.

As it chattered away, seemingly trying to tell him something most important, he let his hand drop back down and then stroked the rhino’s nose again. Looking at his sister, he nodded to her gently. “Ya be safe, yeh? Ah nah wanna hea ya getting’ hurt wit’ meh gone.”

They were going to be going with different groups, and he didn’t want to come back to find he’d lost _everything_. Surely, Genji would look after Khai’rhi and keep her safe while Ta’lim was gone. They all would. Just because he’d lost Lash and Rapta didn’t mean everything would fall apart around him.

Khai’rhi reached out and punched his shoulder playfully. “Everehtin’ gonna be all good. Jus’ ya wait ‘n see.”


	39. Dragons, Dragons Everywhere

“Wat if we got us a realleh long rope, yeh? Ya could hold it de whole time ‘n Ah could take jus’ a peek…” Genji scratched at his chin as he stared forward, an ethereal wind tugging at a few loose strands of dark blue hair. His eyes shone a little brighter than usual, partially reflecting the swirling, rampant magic that curled before them, slowly stretching the platform they were on, drawing them into the whirling chaos of the Nexus’s interdimensional rift.

Howl frowned, striding a few steps forward so that he was almost beside the mage. However, wrongness prickled at his skin, and this was one of the few times that he was proud to say he was scared enough to stop in his tracks.

Not that he’d show it, of course. An orc might feel fear and even follow the instincts that went with that fear, but they would not show any discomfort. That would be weak.

The guild had split up, as had been decided upon nearly two weeks prior. While Gore had lead a group—smaller than Howl would have liked—into the unknown depths in search of their missing guild mates, Howl had been in charge of the majority of the remaining guild mates, topside.

It had been a long two weeks, too.

There was something about the earth that seemed to block communications, and they’d yet to hear more from Gore’s group or any of the people missing from the nerubian attack.

In a way, it was reassuring, because that meant that their silence might not be as dire as they’d first worried. Perhaps they’d merely gotten lost down there, and couldn’t use their stones, instead having ridiculous adventures of their own while the rest of them worried.

It was a fool who would actually buy into that story, and Howl wished dearly he could play the part.

Instead, he simply pushed the worries of those he couldn’t help from his mind, and dealt with what he could.

While Howl had been tempted to turn his people around and head after their guild mates himself after the first week of not hearing anything, they’d already given their word they would assist with this place—this Nexus—and Impervious never broke its word.

When they’d arrived in Coldarra, it had seemed like some pretty standard dragon hunting, at first. And then the red dragon they’d been helping had been kidnapped, and all manner of madness had happened.

Honestly, the inter-workings of draconic politics seemed almost as convoluted and trite as elven politics.

Howl knew; he’d done his research on the elves, kaldorei and sin’dorei and quel’dorei all. When the blood elves had joined the Horde, he’d wanted to make sure he knew what they were in for. More than that, he’d wanted to help their guild welcome them, and to make sure they didn’t accidentally commit some unspeakable act against the elves, not knowing it went against their culture.

Now he found himself wishing he’d spent more time researching dragons.

He would have to find the time for that, once all was said and done here. Assuming he lived to do so, of course.

The Kirin Tor had insisted that Impervious deal with the blue flight, here and now, using less than diplomatic means and—as much pomp and circumstance as the red flight put into their actions—the red dragons agreed. Malygos had been driven mad—likely by an Old God—and needed to be stopped.

This was right up Imperious’ alley.

Howl had figured in the least they could do some scouting, maybe attempt summons for their missing people—the initial summons attempts had been fruitless, but it was always worth another shot—or just recruit some help from the soldiers at Warsong Hold. He didn’t want to do the latter, but if they couldn’t get summons working, Impervious would not be at full strength, and…well…

When Howl had asked how many of the mages of the Kirin Tor planned on coming with them to fight the corrupted aspect, they’d gotten oddly dodgy about it.

Which meant that would be none.

Ancestors…

He couldn’t say he was surprised. This sort of thing had happened with other factions before. They could talk an ear off like no other about how important their tasks were, but if you asked them to go with you, oh that was another story.

Howl hadn’t thought much of it—well, much other than humans seemed to be innately drawn toward cowardice when it came to this sort of thing—until they’d started making their way into the heart of Coldarra.

Their group had split up to scout, some heading toward the floating rocks overhead, while Howl and a few others headed into the underground level of the Nexus.

Once there, things had begun to get…odd.

There were dragons, yes, but there were other…things. Anomalies, giant mana wyrms, sparkly lights, random moments where time seemed to slow down or speed up. Genji had murmured that time and space seemed to be falling to pieces here. The mages had mentioned a magical anomaly that needed to be closed, but Howl hadn’t expected anything like this. He would have kept their group together if he’d known it would be this chaotic.

More than that, interdimensional rift was right. He wasn’t sure if it was just tricks of the eye or what, but some of the things he saw…Genji had steered them clear of the more damaged passages as they’d made their way toward the center of the anomaly.

Once he could have sworn he saw a thin human girl with no armor of any sort facing off against a shivarra, all manners of portals opening around her. He’d thought to go help her, when she’d flung herself through one. After that, the whole scene had faded away, and they’d been left staring at just another side passage.

They hadn’t gone down that one, just to be safe. Even so, Howl offered a small prayer to the ancestors that the human girl—if she’d been real—had ended up somewhere safe, out of the demon’s reach. After all, he might find most humans he encountered to be frustrating at best, but that didn’t mean he wished harm on them.

Before Veena, he just hadn’t cared. Now, though, he thought of the lives they must live, not unlike his own.

Veena…he would need to write to her soon, though he wasn’t sure how he’d get the letter sent. He’d told her they were heading north in his last letter, but had still hoped to surprise her with a correspondence.

Alas, with this sort of madness, it was unlikely to happen any time soon.

There was little time to dwell on such things, anyway, especially now that they’d found the apparent source of the distortions.

The small device he’d been handed by the Kirin Tor mages hummed in his hand, reminding him of their purpose.

A purpose which didn’t include getting Khai’rhi’s lover lost in some magical plane of existence because he thought it’d be fun. Ancestors, but she’d have his tusks first and then his head if he let this play out.

“Genji, you’re not jumping into the magical anomaly.”

“I jus’ sayin’, mon, dea gotta be sumtin in dea dat we could use. Ah bet we could get sum shit fa fightin’ dat asshole death knight, too. Tink a it. We save Liila, den we take out de Lich Kin’, den who knows? C’mon, mon, tell meh it ain’ temptin’.”

“As much fun as it would be to use rampant, unstable magic—”

“Well, I think if it was harnessed properly, it might be contained and used for good.”

Howl turned his head slowly to the side to see Wren standing next to him, gaze straight ahead, much like Genji’s. The elf’s eyes were the bluest things Howl had ever seen, and their glow was definitely brighter than it should have been.

Great.

The elf had had an affinity for the arcane for what, three weeks? And he was already succumbing to wanton magic.

“Cinda, ya can make us a root rope, yeh?” Genji still hadn’t turned away from the anomaly. Wren took two more steps forward, the awe on his face a bit too much akin something Howl had seen before.

Glancing back, Howl’s lips dipped down at the corners in a pronounced frown when he saw Cinder looked much the same as the others in her moonkin form, eyes large, glowing, focused. The fact that she was so entranced was probably the only reason she hadn’t answered Genji yet.

“You know there’s probably a tentacle monster on the other side of that, right?”

That, at least, caught Cinder’s attention. She blinked owlishly at him—the action obviously made more redundant by the fact that her face was that of an owl’s at the moment. “Why can’t you ever just call him by name? C’th—”

“Old gods derive their power from belief and all that, don’t they?” Howl shifted uncomfortably, as though the mere mention of such a creature in such a place might summon it to them.

“And you clearly believe in him,” Cinder argued. “Whether or not you say his name, you still know he’s there.”

“But he’s dead,” Howl argued. “And he’ll stay that way so long as…” He’d had this explained to him once and it had made sense, but now, as the void beckoned his guild mates, he wasn’t sure he could explain it adequately.

And honestly, even if he could, the likelihood that they’d listen was next to nothing.

“Can’t you hear its voice?” Wren whispered. He took another step forward.

Welp.

That was enough of this.

Taking the odd contraption in his hands, Howl turned around and targeted a small bug that was struggling its damnedest to cling to the floor of the platform that was being sucked into…wherever, and charged. As soon as his feet crunched into the ancient slab—consequently squikking the noble bug who would not be remembered in history for its part in possibly saving the world here—he dropped to his knees quickly, slapping the device down so that it was set in place. He heard hissed words, but didn’t look back. He knew he’d see his guild mates rushing him, whatever it was that had power over them ordering them to take out the threat to its existence.

Zul’Gurub had gone much the same way, as had a few other dungeons and raids.

He wouldn’t hold this against them.

Slamming his fist against the large, central button, he could just feel the prickle of fire at the back of his neck, mostly breaking off against his shield, where it was strapped to his back. He’d probably have what was akin to a sunburn against his neck if he didn’t get it healed.

Genji had tried to set him on fire.

Northrend was definitely shaping up to be an adventure, and mostly the kind that gave one headaches.

The contraption came to life, sucking the fire into it as Howl rolled out of a second fireball’s way.

Then, even as he heaved himself back onto his feet and jerked free his shield to fend off the others for however long he’d need to, the machine began to rattle and quake, filling the air with similar vibrations.

As an all-consuming light burst from its depths, Howl had the oddest notion that he was swallowing a staircase.

~”~

Khai’rhi frowned as she cast an aoe heal on the others. She should have been with Genji, but no. The fates did not seem to favor them lately. They were too adorably in love for their guild mates’ preference, and with everything else going on, they apparently couldn’t stand to see a bit of happiness.

Well, Timmons had more specifically said that Khai’rhi and Genji were more likely to spend time sucking face than paying attention to what needed to be killed or healed, but Khai’rhi equated it to the same thing.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was just Timmons who thought that. After all, he had a poor opinion of everyone except for maybe Liila and…that was it, really. However, when everyone had gotten oddly quiet and then Howl suggested that it would be good for them to split up, as they would need a healer and a mage in each group, and keeping Cinder and Mitchell together in a remotely confined area for more than two seconds usually ended in someone other than them getting injured… It would make sense to have Khai’rhi and Mitchell in one group, and Genji and Cinder in the other.

It made sense, assuming Cinder would even bother to go restoration. More likely than not, she was running around as a damned moonkin, too busy starfiring enemies to pay attention to any injuries sustained.

Genji had better be alright when they regrouped.

She’d assumed the role of leader in her group, and was currently directing them from the rear after Timmons and Mitchell had spent twenty minutes arguing over who was in charge with Howl gone—while Mitchell had strongly suggested himself, Timmons had strongly suggested his pet imp, saying that it was just as capable and could toss around just as much fire. That had gone over swimmingly with the mage.

Their last member, Renza’shi, had offered to lead the way, as he was the only melee anyway, but Khai’rhi had intervened just as he opened his mouth, setting the two undead straight and getting things underway.

After all, it wouldn’t do to have Howl’s group finish and come looking for them only to find they hadn’t done _anything_.

And so they’d headed up into the floating pathways overhead. Even if the dragons were a bit stronger than what they were used to and they didn’t have a traditional tank, her group was having an easy enough time of scouting, now that there was order. Mitchell and Timmons were casting a ridiculous amount of fire at anything that moved—including a poor bird that had dared to fly too close in its carelessness—and Renza’shi was holding his own quite well.

She’d had her doubts about him, not knowing if his time in the battlegrounds would adequately prepare him for fighting the sort of creatures they went up against, but he was more than capable.

Further, he’d all but officially joined the guild, even if he didn’t know it yet. There was a new bet going on how long it would take him to ask to join up, with Haa’aji staunchly in the ‘never’ category. Everyone else’s guesses were around the month mark.

Renza’shi probably wouldn’t enjoy that little tidbit. The bet.

But then, Impervious had far worse bets going on, didn’t they? Like the one about how Liila would die for the fiftieth time. Khai’rhi had just about strangled Ta’lim the first time she’d heard him talking about it, though Liila had come by later to let her know that she didn’t mind the bet. She thought it was quite telling to see what people picked as ways for her untimely demise. And it was ‘fun’ to watch later entrants try to come up with a way that hadn’t already had money put down on it.

Khai’rhi and Sham were probably the only two who knew about it and hadn’t taken part in that awful thing. Well, maybe the elves, too, though she wasn’t sure if that was because they had morals or because they hadn’t been specifically invited to join in.

“Khai’rhi…”

She blinked out of her thoughts as she heard her name called. Annoyance was her first reaction, as that was normally the tone Ta’lim took when he felt she wasn’t being attentive enough in her healing.

However, Ta’lim was off in the depths of the world, searching for their missing guild mates.

When she looked up, she saw the other three staring at her, all their expressions looking rather akin to those of small, trapped animals. She felt a tingling sensation on the back of her neck and took in a measured breath, reaching slowly toward her hip where her totems rested on her belt, and turned slowly.

There, just behind her, a very large, very angry looking dragon had somehow managed to land so that just its front two legs were on the platform they were on, its lower limbs no doubt digging into the underside of the stone to keep itself up.

Its face was mere inches from hers, teeth sharp and glinting.

As she looked at it, it cocked its head sharply, reared back, and struck.

Fucking dragons.

~”~

Lash worriedly felt his pocket for his guild stone. His former guild’s stone, rather. He should have given it to Gore after their talk, but Gore hadn’t asked for it, and so he hadn’t offered it.

After all, plenty of people outside of the guild had stones. Theirs might not be linked to the main guild chat, but…still.

He’d been gone from them barely two days when they’d initiated an emergency roll call. Part of him had wanted to respond—he’d almost done it without even thinking, truth be told—but he’d known better.

However, there’d been utter silence on the stones after that.

If they were talking, it was in private.

Or…

Or had his access to the guild chat been disabled after all?

Lash had messaged Ta’lim a dozen times, asking if everyone was okay, but he hadn’t heard back once. Not once.

Of everyone in the guild, Ta’lim had been one of Lash’s best friends, and now he couldn’t even be bothered to answer him?

The idea stung far more than it should have.

“Bloodeye, we’re ready,” Kiage called out to him, rousing him from his thoughts. Duskeh plodded along quietly beside him as he gathered his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, heading toward the stables.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. There had been a plan, and maybe this was just part of it, but…it felt an awful lot like…

Gore had always gone out of his way to make sure that Lash knew he wasn’t alone. Even with his parents lost in honorable combat, defending their people, he’d made sure that Lash had a family. And Lash trusted Gore. He knew that his uncle was a smart orc, but he couldn’t help but feel that something had gone wrong, and the role call just made it worse.

That nagging sense that things were falling apart…

“We’re heading northeast along the road,” Kiaga was telling him enthusiastically, holding up a map as they walked toward the stables. “We are to explore and find good places to make strongholds for the Horde, to make sure the Alliance will not get too strong a foothold out here.”

Lash arched a brow. “Aren’t we all here to fight the Scourge?”

Kiaga rolled her eyes toward him. “And when we win, we need to make sure that we have more ground than they do.”

It seemed so…ridiculous.

But…what else was he supposed to do? Wait for messages from guild mates whose banner he no longer claimed?

With a sigh and a nod, he led his worg out of the stables beside her, giving her a swift nod. “Lead the way.”

“Oh, actually, we’re going to be going with another group…” Kiaga paused and frowned. “I told you about them already. Weren’t you listening?”

Even as Lash tried to feign knowledge of the conversation he’d missed thanks to his fretting, he looked up to see rather familiar faces.

Lisp gave him a short nod, head cocked to the side. “You’re coming with us?”

Shifting his weight, suddenly uncomfortable under the gazes of half a dozen members of Blood and Honor, he nodded quickly. “Looks like it.”

Though Lisp didn’t say anything else, Embry gave him a quick, impersonal smile. “Welcome aboard. It’s Bloodeye now, right?”

~“~

With a final roar, the dragon fell from the air, crashing into the floating platform. Cracks sped across its surface and Renza’shi darted away, cursing himself for being melee as he tried to outrun the splintering pieces. It seemed that whatever had held the platform aloft had broken with the stone and he could feel the rush of the world as the ground literally crumbled beneath his feet.

In a last ditch attempt, he threw all his weight forward and flung himself toward a nearby platform cursing as his fingers scraped against the edge and he plummeted down, down, down.

While he would have thought his stomach being in his throat would have been the worst feeling to overtake him, that was soon overshadowed by the clamp of teeth into his shoulder. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable shake of the predator’s neck, to fling him like a rag doll, snapping his bones and making him an easy meal.

“Oh…oh gross,” a voice whimpered, muffled as it spoke around his shoulder. “I bit too deep. There’s blood. You know I don’t like blood.”

“Well you can’t just drop him,” another muffled voice hissed. “Just…” A dragon with Mitchell held loosely in its mouth flew ahead so that Renza’shi could see it when he opened his eyes.

A red dragon. “Sorry. We’ll…heal you when we set you down,” it said.

Renza’shi stared at the dragon, expression completely blank. He recognized that voice. It had been one of the mages who had told them about the problems in the Nexus. He’d seen that dragons were around, even heard that they could talk, but…he’d been relegated to guarding Mitchell as he’d picked berries when they’d been initially sorting out what needed to be done, and somehow he’d missed that the human man ordering them around was a fucking dragon.

They could change shape?

How many others were out there?

How many dragons were…

What the fuck was Impervious involved in?

“I think I broke him.” The voice rumbled against his shoulder in a muffled wail.   

“You didn’t break anyone.”

“He, um, probably just didn’t know lizards could talk,” Mitchell offered, flashing an awkward thumbs up with the arm that wasn’t pinned in the dragon’s mouth.

The beast holding Renza’shi started to nod and then let out a frantic wail again when Renza’shi hissed as the movement dug the creature’s teeth deeper into his shoulder.

Even as it began to apologize, it dropped him onto an intact platform. Renza’shi stumbled away from the beast, eyeing it. It was a drake, smaller than most of the blue ones flying around here, with green scales. Its head bobbled side to side as it continued to apologize, inspecting him and looking most distraught.

And then it licked him.

Or more specifically, his shoulder.

Instantly, the feel of torn flesh numbed and disappeared.

The red dragon had already set Mitchell down, and was dropping Timmons from its back. As Timmons slid off, he brought Khai’rhi down with him.

“She needs healing, I think,” Timmons muttered, eyeing the dragons.

Renza’shi frowned as he trotted over to the others, never quite taking his eye off the green dragon. It was still spitting at the taste of blood, and looked more like a distraught, oversized housecat than anything else.

When he finally dared to look down at their healer, he saw that she was unconscious, though a small grimace played on her features.

“I guess…we wait for Howl?” Mitchell offered.

“How’s he going to get up here, exactly?” Timmons snapped. Prior to this, they’d been using small portals that had been left rather conveniently open to teleport from platform to platform. With the one destroyed, however, Renza’shi wondered if anyone could follow them up. “Idiot.”

“Well we can’t just stop everything—”

Before the fighting from earlier could resume, Khai’rhi whacked at Timmons, who was still the closest to her. “Dat be enough a dat.” With a groan, she sat up, looking far more worn than Renza’shi would have expected.

He dropped his pack in front of him and began to rummage through it. “Ah got sum bandages, if ya need—”

“Ah be fine,” Khai’rhi started, though before she could insist that she needn’t any aid, a large green tongue slurped her. Her reaction was much the same as Renza’shi’s, and he was surprised at how much better that made him feel.

She did seem to be better, even if she was emotionally jarred.

“Terarrius, they’re not kittens. Use your magic.”

The green dragon looked at the red, eyes wide, like he didn’t know how to react, and like he was just as weirded out by being around them as Renza’shi was by being around him. “Elara said that mortals steal our magic.”

“Alexstrasza, give me strength.” The red dragon slumped down, bringing a clawed foot up to cover its snout. “She wasn’t being literal. She just meant that they learn fast.”

As the green dragon readied a retort, Khai’rhi shoved herself to her feet, glaring their way. “Ah ain’ havin’ none a dis. Ah take it ya saved us, so we be grateful, but none a dis arguin’ be helpin’ nahbodeh.”

“Why are you here?” The green dragon asked, turning its large gaze toward them. It seemed to exist in a perpetual state of terror. Or perhaps Renza’shi just couldn’t read dragon faces very well.

“He sent us,” Renza’shi pointed at the red dragon before anyone else could say anything. “Ya wann’ed us ta scout de area, yeh?”

“I…did not expect you to make it up here so quickly…”

“He probably wanted you to distract the other dragons while he set me free,” the green one offered, shrugging its wings out. The resulting wind from its action made Renza’shi’s and the others’ hair flutter wildly.

“Ya betta be kiddin’ meh, mon. We been bait?”

Mitchell looked ready to hop off the platform and just take his chances with the freefall the second he heard Khai’rhi’s response.

She wagged a finger at the red dragon, marching right up to it. “Ya don’ request help from people ‘n use dem like dis wit’ out tellin’ dem nuttin’. We coulda worked witcha ‘n come up wit’ sumtin betta den dis.”

The green dragon hit the red dragon with one of its wings, jostling the creature beside it. “Look. You made the mother one angry.”

“Wat?” Khai’rhi bristled further. “Just ‘cause Ah gotta look afta dese idiots, ‘n keep all a ya from goin’ at each otha, ya tink Ah be de mudda one?”

Rather than take offense, the green dragon poked its head forward, sniffing her and nearly knocking her off her feet before settling back onto its haunches, wings folded against its back as it looked at the red one. “I am not wrong, am I?”

The red dragon, the one who seemed to be the authority on mortals between the two, sighed, sitting back as well. “The mortal races do not always pick up on new life as quickly as our kind does.”

“Well, it’s hard not to notice an egg,” the green one offered, its expression finally not looking so traumatized.

As Renza’shi watched the back and forth, wondering where exactly he’d gone wrong with his life to find himself sitting suspended in the air, an unwanted audience to two dragons debating mortal shortcomings, Mitchell slouched forward a little more. Even as he started to ask what was going on, he glanced to the side to see that Khai’rhi had donned a rather stricken expression, her hands folded over her stomach, barely breathing.

“What’s going on?” Mitchell whispered a bit too loudly.

Khai’rhi did not respond.

It took a moment before what the dragons were saying really sunk in and Renza’shi’s eyes widened in time with Timmons’. For the first time, he forgot the dragons as he looked back at Khai’rhi.

Crossing his arms, Mitchell glared from face to face. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

~”~

Howl and Wren finished tugging Genji back up by the roots that had ensnared him in the last minutes of the distortion’s existence, when he’d tried to jump into the anomaly before it could be closed. As they hoisted the mage back onto the platform, with Cinder content to inspect her moonkin claws, as she’d already technically saved him by rooting him in place—even if the roots had been stretched by the magic of the anomaly making the very root rope that Genji had been asking for—Genji kept his gaze low.

After an awkward minute of standing there in the darkened room—with the magical anomaly gone, there was little in the way of light sources in this part of the Nexus—he finally ducked his head down, making his slouch a bit more pronounced than usual.

“Can…can we nah tell Khai’rhi ‘bout dis?”

With a half laugh, Howl reached out and thwacked Genji on the arm. “My lips are sealed.”

Wren gave him a simple nod, looking more than a little embarrassed himself.

“Tanks. All a ya.”

After another terse silence, Howl finally sighed. “Are we done here?” It was with great relief that he heard a chorus of yesses in reply.  


	40. Switching It Up

Cloudless was in the garden near he and Skybow’s tent diligently weeding. Things had been going, really, really well. He and Skybow were getting along almost as well as they had when they’d first met, and it was like they were young steers again.

Neither could complain about that.

However, he had snuck a peek at his guild stone a few times late at night, while Skybow was sleeping.

While he’d laughed off the role call as something trivial, it worried him, none the less. A worry amplified with each day that he checked his stone to see that guild chat wasn’t filled with arguments and quips, laughter and talk of adventure.

Of course, it made sense that they wouldn’t be writing as much in chat with everyone gathered together. And he’d told them that he would be gone for a while, so they likely didn’t think they needed to message him.

The guild very rarely went all together anywhere, so this silence was somewhat unprecedented.

For surely they would have split into groups to cover more ground at least a few times.

That would have led to banter.

And Haa’aji had a way of writing out inappropriate comments in chat even when everyone was there for guild meetings, just to get people to check their stones when they were supposed to be paying attention to rule revisions and the like.

That Haa’aji was silent was probably one of the most troubling part of this.

Cloudless had sent Gregor, and then Gore, and then Sham messages, asking if everything was alright, even if he felt he couldn’t offer to really make things right.

However, none of them had replied.

His guild leaders being silent was...unnerving.

Fluffy bleated next to him as it leaned forward to nibble on one of the grasses he’d planted specifically for the beast. Its eye twitched as it contentedly chewed, sitting beside him almost like a dog might.

“Are we really sure that thing is safe?”

“I half think it’s not even really a sheep,” Cloudless murmured in response as he reached over and patted the creature on the head. Fluffy leaned into his large hand, welcoming the attention.

Skybow settled across from him, a few rows of green vegetables growing betwixt them. “I don’t care what it is, unless it’s dangerous.”

With a nod, Cloudless went back to work. “I can understand that, but he hasn’t shown any signs of aggression.”

“Or regression,” Skybow countered. When Cloudless looked up, his partner’s eyes were on the sheep, slightly narrowed, expression perplexed.

Dropping his voice, Cloudless leaned forward. “If this can bring an end to the plague in Lordaeron, I’d watch a hundred of these. No one deserves that fate. Person or animal.”

“I can understand that, really, I just…” Skybow settled back a little more, seemed to think it over, and then leaned forward as well. “He mentioned a blight bomb. Your guild mate. Implied that they can _do_ that.” He waited for Cloudless to say something and then shuddered. “That doesn’t terrify you?”

“The idea isn’t a pleasant one,” Cloudless admitted, shifting a little where he sat. Fluffy watched him with relative disinterest, ear and opposite eye twitching for a few ticks before calming. “But Mitchell wouldn’t be part of that. He’s going to help people.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” Cloudless gave him a firm nod. “The Forsaken can be…awful toward the living, but Mitchell is one of the good ones. I’m sure of it.”

A brief silence settled over them before Skybow finally rolled one of his shoulders, gaze shifting away. “They mean a lot to you. Your guild.”

“You’re more important—”

“I’m not bringing them up in a bout of jealousy,” Skybow cut in. “I just…you have a message. On your stone.” He pulled the guild stone out of his pocket and offered it to Cloudless. “I know it’s yours and I’ve no business going through it—wouldn’t know how to, to be honest—but I know you’ve been checking it at night, and I wanted to see…I just wanted to know why you were worried. I saw words above it, but they went away. I don’t know how to bring them back.”

Cloudless winced when he realized that he hadn’t been nearly as subtle with his attempts to keep up with his guild as he’d hoped. “I could show you how to use the stone,” he said, barely thinking.

“I wouldn’t…it’s yours. It’d be like intercepting your mail or…” Skybow’s frown deepened. “I shouldn’t have even been looking at it. I’m sorry.”

With a few taps, Cloudless easily brought the words up, only to feel his heart sink.

Howl: _Cloudless, are you available? We need a healer. I can explain more in person, if you can come._

“They need you.”

The angle that he was at, he couldn’t have seen the words, but Cloudless felt the guilt surging up inside of him. “They can find someone else.”

“They’ve relied on you for years on your adventures,” Skybow murmured, tail twitching where it had curled around him where he sat. “Can you really just brush them off—”

“Come with me,” Cloudless said, leaning across the garden and catching one of Skybow’s hands. “I know you love Thunderbluff, but you can protect it from further away. There’s so much in the world that needs to be righted and…”

He trailed off.

This was the exact thing he’d been telling himself not to do.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

“Would they even need another warrior? I hear raid compositions are important…that they need to be balanced,” Skybow mumbled the end, like he was repeating something he’d heard, but hadn’t had time to really learn. There was something in his voice, apprehension and…interest?

“When you consider how many mages there are, I think all of the classes are pretty much open,” Cloudless offered, feeling his hope bubbling up. Maybe things could work…

“What about Fluffy?”

And everything ground to a halt.

Cloudless stared down at the little creature beside him, and it returned his gaze with one of contented simplicity.

“We’ll figure out how to take care of Fluffy. Would you come? If I asked them to let you join us?”

Skybow was still for a moment, considering it. Finally, he nodded. “I think I could stand to see a bit more of the world. I’d have to get it approved with the Braves, of course.”

With a smile, Cloudless ran his finger across his stone.

Cloudless: _I’ll come if Skybow can come. He has to talk to the Braves to make sure he can get time off._

Howl: _We’ll handle it._

The response was so swift, so to the point. But then, Howl had always been rather succinct, hadn’t he?

“How long do you think we’ll need?” Skybow asked, brow scrunched together as he thought it over. “A month to get to Northrend and then…”

“There’s no way they’d let us take that long to get there.” Cloudless grinned when Skybow raised his brow. “We’ll be getting summons.”

Though he looked a little wary of the prospect, Skybow nodded. “Alright then. If you want, you can start packing while I go talk to my superiors.”

Cloudless couldn’t help the bubble of pride that swelled in him as Skybow swiftly rose to his feet and headed off.

Things were going to work out well.

~”~  
Timmons picked at a small tear in his robe, sitting a little ways away from the rest of his group, not paying mind to anyone. He didn’t really care what was going on around him anyway. It was all stupid relationship bullshit, at best.

Khai’rhi was having a baby, Mitchell was asking her weird and creepy questions about pregnancy ‘for science’, like how was it that she was a healer and hadn’t noticed a new life growing inside of her? Did that mean it wasn’t alive yet? Shouldn’t one of their healers picked up on that? Were they inept?

And on and on. Timmons had set him on fire once to shut him up, but after being chastised by the very person he’d been defending, he’d figured that if Khai’rhi didn’t want his help, she could deal with the stupid questions.

Renza’shi had also tried to shut Mitchell up, mostly by drawing him away, saying that his old guild mate had had a baby and offering to explain a few things that he could, since Khai’rhi was clearly overwhelmed.

As soon as they’d moved away, Khai’rhi had looked lost and abandoned, hands over her stomach, fingers splayed. As she’d stood there, looking like an abandoned puppy, the green dragon—the dragons seemed to have adopted them, at least for the time being, though the red one seemed content to let them have their space, only occasionally stepping in to tell the green one not to be so overbearing—had darted over and run circles around her twice, its large claws clacking against the ground in a cacophony of clicks. When it was wound around her, still with space for her to move a little, it had settled down, much like a cat might, tail twitching in front of it, head raised, alert, occasionally leaning in to nudge Khai’rhi and sniff her.

Timmons had been too busy sulking to see if she actually wanted a guardian lizard.

Then Howl and the others had shown up, with Wren and Cinder mid bitch-fest about how Cinder’s lover had abandoned her and how disappointed Wren was that Zereesa had gone with Gore underground, at Gore and Blood’s insistence. Wren missed her dearly.

In other words, they were a bundle of self-pitying drama.

Khai’rhi had fled her dragon guard and flung herself into Genji’s arms, crying.

Weren’t babies supposed to be happy occasions?

Timmons supposed he hadn’t really thought on children much, considering it had clearly been in the cards that he wouldn’t have any.

Well, he’d always assumed that, anyway. He cracked his neck, noting how the pop of his joints felt. Would Mitchell’s experiment…change things?

Mitchell had asked him that humiliating question about erections when he’d first gotten ahold of them to examine, and Timmons had been honest when he said he didn’t have a ‘twitch’.

Thing was, he certainly did feel something when he saw Liila. His heart would skip a beat and it sent him reeling. Damned thing. Heat would pool in his gut and…

And then he’d remember that even if he did have a heartbeat, he was still a monster. Even if something could happen, it didn’t mean that it would. As it stood, he could barely be around her for a few minutes before he’d feel like he was going through puberty all over again, just discovering sexual attraction and all that nonsense.

He didn’t want her to think he hated her, but…he couldn’t exactly tell her the problem, could he? And he couldn’t talk to anyone else about it.

Mitchell would probably need to know for his research, but…

But he could get that sort of thing from Gregor. If it was happening to Timmons, it had to be happening to him, too, right?

As someone yelled something at someone, he leaned back, slouching further, not bothering to pull his hood forward as it fell back. Everyone here knew about his ‘condition’.

Fuck this.

All of this.

He should have gone with Gore.

Would have, but Gore had ordered that he stay back to summon, if needed.

The longer they went without word, the more likely that they _needed_ to summon them back. What if they waited too long and by the time they tried to call them back, something catastrophic had happened?

What if…

Though, without any way to contact them, he wasn’t sure how good an idea summoning them back would actually be. What if they’d just found Liila, and he pulled them away before she was saved?

He shouldn’t have been avoiding her like he had. He should have talked to her, should have understood that she just wanted to help him through this. He should have been able to control his own damned emotions. After all, being a warlock was all about control, wasn’t it?

He reached out and took his pulse as a dragon growled at Genji. He didn’t look up to see which one, but guessed it was probably the green one. There was a brief lull in the discussions—and crying—and then things resumed, mostly with yelling.

His imp sat beside him, head in hands, watching the guild chaos with mild disdain. It glanced up at Timmons as he happened a look down and both frowned at the other. The imp lowered its ears and stared back at the others as Renza’shi tried to talk the dragon out of eating their troll mage.

Why did Enlyhn have to have been one of the ones to go missing? If he’d still been around, he could have stayed back to summon, and Timmons could have gone with Haa’aji and Gore and the others.

If he could save her, maybe that would make up for his asshole-ish behavior.

After all, she was the only one he’d never wanted to hurt. And he had. He’d ignored her and turned down her help and…

And he was a bastard, through and through.

If anything happened to her…

The snow melted around him in a hiss of steam as he considered what the point would be in having a heartbeat if it just hurt all the time.

~”~

“’Ey. Ah be hea fa de sheep.”

Skybow and Cloudless turned to the entrance to their tent to see Genji standing there, somewhat annoyed.

How was it that the best thing to ever happen to him—best and most terrifying, honestly—could lead him to gathering some weird damned guild pet that he’d never even heard of?

When they’d regrouped, he’d been mostly worried that Cinder would tell Khai’rhi about how he nearly tossed himself into an interdimensional rift—never mind the fact that she’d been relatively close to doing the same thing.

However, even as they’d come up, Khai’rhi had run up to him and flung her arms around him, bursting into tears and trying to talk incoherently through her sobs about something that was obviously upsetting her. Indeed, Genji was an astute lover.

Genji had stood there, gaze slowly shifting over the rest of the party, trying to figure out who could have actually made Khai’rhi cry—aside from his dumb ass, he didn’t think anyone had ever managed this feat.

And then the dragons had landed, and the green one had nearly eaten him.

“Don’t make the mother one cry!” It had hissed.

By the Loa, but he’d thought he’d been ready for almost anything. Still, having a dragon tell him he was having a baby had come as a shock.

To be fair, it would have been a shock regardless—maybe it shouldn’t have been, considering how much sex they’d been having—but to hear it from something as it tried to snap his head off was a tad more jarring than most deliveries.

After learning that, it had been obvious that Khai’rhi couldn’t stay in Northrend. While he hadn’t wanted her to there to begin with—she might be a talented healer, but he still worried about her, regardless—it had become a whole new matter that they had a defenseless little one to worry about.

After all, what if they were fighting and aggro went everywhere and he couldn’t kill something before it attacked her? He didn’t know much about healing spells, but he knew that they did need to be altered when pregnancies were involved. The whole healing for two thing.

And when Khai’rhi had managed to rein in her tears, she’d admitted that she would need to research more about such spells, as she’d never expected to need to heal anyone who was pregnant, let alone herself.

It was kind of short-sighted in retrospect, considering how many women were in their guild, but it was there.

So they’d agreed that Khai’rhi couldn’t stay in Northrend. And Genji wasn’t about to leave her to deal with a pregnancy on her own, especially considering they had no idea how long they’d be up north. What if he missed the whole thing?

What if he died?

Unlike some of their guild members, Genji was fairly certain Liila hadn’t carved him up at any point to make him one of the ‘immortal assholes’, as they were now being called. Mostly by themselves, but still.

Even as he’d reeled about what they would do, Howl had tried to contact the missing guildmates as well as their guild leaders. When that had failed, he’d gone to Cloudless.

Whatever was out there was smiling on them, too, for Cloudless had insisted on bringing along his partner, who could replace Genji as far as dps went. Granted, a caster traded for melee wasn’t ideal, but…

It wasn’t his problem now.

He had a family to worry about.

A family that apparently included a sheep.

When he noticed the perplexed looks on Cloudless’ and Skybow’s faces—no doubt they were wondering why he was standing stoicly in their doorway—he felt his mood lighten a bit. Regardless of why he was there, it hadn’t been either of these tauren who had put him in a fickle mood.

Taking a few steps into the home, he motioned toward Cloudless, and then Skybow, not wanting to leave him out. “Howl told us ya be comin’, ‘n Mitchell freaked out dat ya got sumtin ya watchin’ fa him dat can’ be comin’ up north.” Genji rolled his eyes. “Since me ‘n Khai’rhi be back in Orgrimma, he demanded dat Ah come get it from ya.” Even as Cloudless started to point toward a rather fluffy looking sheep, Genji strode in and sat at the table with them, closer to Cloudless. “Khai’rhi ‘n meh havin’ a babeh, yeh?”

Cloudless jaw dropped, then he grinned and reached out, slapping Genji on the shoulder. “Congratulations!”

“Tank ya, tank ya,” the troll replied, puffing up a little bit, momentarily forgetting his earlier annoyance. “Dea a lotta stuff ta do, but we gonna do it tagetha, so it be alright, I guess…” He paused, images of what the future might hold flitting through his mind, and then abruptly frowned. “’n tanks fa not sayin’ ‘grats’. Dat been Mitchell’s comment. Like it hurt him ta say de full damned word. Ya don’ dismiss sumtin so life-changin’ wit’ a damned syllable…” 

“That is wonderful news,” Skybow offered, a little awkwardly.

Instantly, Genji felt guilty. He extended a hand. “Genji Tuskbreaka. Sorreh, mon. Ya be Skybow, yeh? Nice ta finalleh meet ya. Cloudless onleh eva says great tings.”

“Nice to meet you,” the tauren echoed. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps you can tell me something?”

“Hmm?” Genji paused, halfway ready to get up, grab the sheep, and port back to Khai’rhi. He’d told her he wouldn’t be gone more than an hour, after all, and they had a lot of planning to do.

“Cloudless invited me along to go with your guild,” he began slowly, looking toward his partner and nodding. “So I headed over to ask for time off only to get there and receive word that Cairne Bloodhoof has ordered me to be given as much time as I want.”

Cloudless busied himself with taking a long drink from his mug. Genji glanced from one to the other. “Huh. Dat be soundin’ pretteh luckeh.”

“What does your guild actually do that you can get the tauren chieftain to give me time off?”

Genji stared back at him for a moment before slowly shrugging. “We…be doin’ odd jobs fa differn’ people. Sumtimes we help somebodeh important.”

“I see.” Skybow murmured, head tilting to the side ever so slightly.

Though Genji was tempted to just tell him, he considered that if Skybow didn’t get involved in anything too dangerous, it might be better to keep him in the dark about things. And that was Cloudless place to tell him, anyway.

“What’s going on?” Cloudless asked. “We’re going to get summons as soon as we’re finished up here…I guess after dinner we will be, if we don’t have to find a home for Fluffy, but…we’d like to not walk into whatever’s going on blind.”

“Well,” Genji hesitated again, this time getting up and wandering over to get Fluffy. Cloudless hopped up to help him gather a few things he would need to take care of the beast. “Dea been a attack ‘n people be missin’, yeah? But Gore ‘n sum othas be takin’ care a dat. De rest a us been helpin’ sum mages wit’ sum stuff.” He paused, then pointed at each of them. “When ya get dea, be sure not ta piss off de green dragon. It be a snappeh little basta’d.”

Slowly rising to join the rest of them, Skybow narrowed his eyes. “There are dragons?”

“Yeh, it’s ehhhh.” Genji shrugged. “Dey explain it betta when ya get dea.”

Despite the mistrust plastered to Skybow’s face, Genji shifted a little, holding the things he would need—and Fluffy, who was idly chewing on his robe’s sleeve—and sighed. “Mon, Ah’d tell ya de whole damned saga, but Ah gotta get back ta Khai’rhi. Ah don’ wan’ ha sleepin’ alone tanight.”

Cloudless simply nodded. “I understand.”

And with that, he gave both tauren a grin and cast a quick teleport spell.

There was so much to do.

~”~

Skybow shivered as he found snow upon his new surroundings. They’d been warned to bring cloaks, but he hadn’t realized it would be _this_ cold. As Cloudless clasped hands with a few people, calling out greetings and laughing as he tugged Skybow after him, a flurry of introductions going by too quickly for him to catch, his gaze landed on the mage who had visited them before.

Mitchell.

He was surprised that he’d be relieved to see that forsaken again.

“Okay, so,” a woman who looked to be half-troll at best stopped in front of him. He tried to remember her name as she began to talk. Cinder…? “The real question is are you two gonna be too busy making out to do your jobs like our troll couple, or can you manage to not be dumbasses?”

“Dey did dea jobs jus’ fine,” a tuskless troll snapped at her, scowl in place.

“Because we separated them,” Cinder snapped.

Before they could start arguing in earnest, the orc—Howl, he believed the name was—cleared his throat loudly. “Look, the blue flight knows that we’re here, and they’re expecting us to come, though they likely aren’t expecting us to hit them so soon. So long as Cloudless and Skybow aren’t too tired, I say we hit them tonight.” He gave the two of them a cautious look, as though unsure if he should have made the declaration so quickly.

“I’m ready,” Skybow murmured with a slight shrug. They were going to fight a dragon?

Cloudless’ response was to cast a rejuvenation on Howl. The orc rolled his eyes and grinned, before turning a more critical eye to Cinder. “Restoration spec. We’re not making Cloudless solo heal this.”

With a scoff, and something muttered about letting the elf get a feel for his holy magic, she adjusted her bracers and crossed her arms when Howl was not persuaded. “Fine.”

He eyed her once before nodding and turning toward an old, oddly built structure, the kinds of like Skybow had never seen before. “Right then. Let’s go kill the Aspect of Magic.”

Skybow’s steps faltered. “I’m sorry, what?”

~”~

Adrias dismounted at the bedraggled looking camp, ridiculous amounts of snow all around them. Snow and the stench of rotting corpses that was so strong it made him want to gag. Truly, this land was cursed.

His gamble to join the diplomatic excursion had been a success, as he knew it would, though he’d almost been foiled when his grandfather had caught wind of what he was up to and had arrived to try to stop him.

Fortunately, the portal had already been cast, and Adrias had darted through it before anyone could figure out just why the grand warlock look so displeased. He’d been glad to have brought his hawkstrider with him, for getting out of the city had been a pain, but following his spell’s directions to find Gryst’lyn had been even worse. It was fucking freezing, and the wind was miserable, and the few creatures he’d been unfortunate enough to encounter in that eerily quiet forest had actually proven somewhat difficult to fight. For the first time in his life, he’d openly traveled with his felguard already summoned.

It helped that there were no civilians around to scream.

His hawkstrider hadn’t been pleased with that, and while he’d almost abandoned it for his felsteed, he’d opted to keep it around for a while longer, lest he need a distraction for getting away from something he couldn’t fend off.

However, despite the few other creatures he crossed paths with, he’d managed to keep both himself and the faithful bird intact.

When he’d first come across a scout for this Argent Crusade, he’d worried they would mark him a hostile, thanks to his demon. However, the man—a gnome—had simply told him to report to one of the overseers to learn where he’d be needed when he reached the camp.

Adrias hadn’t bothered to correct the gnome on the reason for his presence, not wanting to rouse suspicion or just get dragged into a twenty-minute conversation on ethics or morals or…whatever he might try to lecture him on.

He’d given the gnome a thin smile before continuing on, realizing that with all the chaos out here, pet demons were the least of people’s problems.

“You, warlock.” A woman’s voice snapped out even as he reluctantly offered his hawkstrider’s reins to a human stableboy. Turning he frowned at the speaker, finding a tauren woman trotting through the bustle of the camp toward him. “We need someone covering the—” She cut herself off as she got a better look at him, eyes abruptly narrowing. “You don’t wear the Argent Crusade’s colors. A new recruit?”

“I’m looking for someone, actually,” Adrias said, quick to get to his point lest she try to drag him into some heroics. “A Gryst’lyn Emberdawn. I have reason to believe he’s here—”

“Captain Emberdawn’s here alright,” the tauren murmured. She paused, catching a troll mage by the sleeve as they hurried past, “I need you on guard at the western wall. At the sign of any nerubians, even if it’s one measly spider, you let us know. They’re planning something.”

The troll nodded and hurried off. “He’s on the frontlines.”

Adrias shifted his weight. “When will he be coming in?”

At that, the tauren laughed, shaking her head slowly. “You sure you know him?” When Adrias arched an eyebrow, she motioned over her shoulder. “He doesn’t come in. Unless it’s on a stretcher.”  

~”~

Sham’s head felt like it was full of muck, but the more she forced herself to think, the more coherently her thoughts became. Her head hurt, but when she tried to heal herself, she found that her magic would not do as it was bidden.

After a few growingly frantic attempts, Sham forced herself to calm down. She could not afford to panic, not now.

Her world was dark, but as she focused on evening her breathing, she realized she could feel cloth over her eyes.

So not blind. Good.

She forced herself to move past the dull throb in her head and to examine the rest of herself as best she could. Her arms were tied behind her back, and occasionally her shoulder brushed against a bar as whatever she was in shifted and swung. A cage, perhaps?

While she couldn’t see her surroundings, she could hear them well enough. Chittering noises came from all around her and, while it had seemed random at first, she was fairly certain that it was some sort of language. Something like what the silithid had used in Silithus.

Memories of the ground erupting beneath her came flooding back, threatening to send her back into that muddled void she’d barely managed to pull herself out of. Forcing her breathing to stay even, she caught hold of one of the memories and worked on it, letting the rest fall into place around it.

They’d been attacked. She’d fallen a short ways underground when it had caved beneath them. She could remember Gregor landing near her, his weapon buried or lost or…simply gone. He’d tried to fend off something that had come after them, and she’d been healing him when…

Nothing.

Her head throbbed.

Head injuries were tricky things. Cursing under her breath for being unable to cast, Sham considered what she might do in the meantime. With her hands bound, there was no chance she could apply a poultice, or use a health potion.

At the thought, she realized her hips felt bare. Her axe and bags were gone.

That made sense, of course.

If she took a prisoner for some reason, it would make sense to disarm them.

But then, why had she been taken prisoner? Weren’t the minions of the Lich King more concerned with killing their enemies and raising them to join their undead ranks than taking hostages.

Her heart sunk a little as she considered that perhaps they had found Liila’s markings on her. She hadn’t asked if Liiila had used any runes on her or not, half afraid of what the answer might be. Sham knew she’d never died, but if she did have death runes on her, what might that mean? Would the creatures think to experiment on her?

Biting down the bile that rose in her throat, she squared her shoulders. She would not panic. Even if she had been captured, it wouldn’t be for long. Gore would come for her, embarrassing as it was to need to be saved.

And assuming she wouldn’t find her way out of this mess before he needed to.

What was important now was to stay calm and assess the situation.

For example, was she the only one who’d been captured? What had happened to Gregor?

She strained her ears, listening for sounds past whatever strange conversations were going on around her in that strange language.

Even as she tried to listen, her whole cage jostled, toppling her into the bars. However, as it sounded distinctly like one of the ‘voices’ was cursing at another, she realized she could hear something crunching against the ground.

So she wasn’t swinging in a cage, but being carried somewhere.

Great.

Though it was better to know.

Sham considered calling out to her captors—or just to see if anyone she knew might answer—but decided against it. Her head hurt too much.

After what felt like an eternity, the chittering noises picked up dramatically, and she got the distinct impression that eyes were upon her. She sat straighter.

Abruptly, her cage was set down. She heard and felt latches being undone and then… She felt the swish of air going up, like the bars had been lifted rather than opened.

A hush fell.

Then boots.

They crunched into dirt slowly, growing closer with each step. When they stopped, a voice began just to her side. It rasped and seemed to have distinct difficulty with using the orcish tongue, yet it did.

“My liege, we’ve brought them to you, as requested.”

Sham felt her stomach tighten. Liege? It couldn’t be…

Abruptly, her blindfold was pulled away, and she blinked. As the colors came into focus, she didn’t notice the vast cavern that seemed to go on forever in every direction, interrupted with dulled golden buildings and idols, with webbing that spanned from building to building to rocky pillars that somehow kept the world from falling in on itself. She was blind to the mosses that wound lazily over the ground and nearby pillars, or to the nerubian creatures she could see.

Instead, her focus was on the creature standing before her.

Their leader…

“You.”


	41. One Thing After Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having a rough time for a while, but I do hope to update this fic with a little bit more regularity. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

“I hope ya understand that this is mine now. Since it’s my healin’ that saved ya sorry ass. Since ya can’t stick ta the shadows like the fuckin’ rogue ya supposed ta be.”

As Tizzle dropped the dagger into his bags and snapped them shut, ignoring the look of incredulity that their trollish rogue was giving him. He’d enchanted his bags a long time ago to keep unwanted fingers from snaking their way in, and his was one of the few satchels that Haa’aji as of yet had never gotten in. He tried not to smirk at the thought, instead simply crossing his arms as he waited to see if the troll would throw a fit.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Don’ be playin’ games, mon,” Haa’aji replied, straightening out of his slouch to stand at his full height—a feat largely unnecessary because it meant that Tizzle couldn’t see him well enough for the intimidation tactic to work. “Jus’ hand it ova.”

And even then, Tizzle didn’t scare easily. Or…he liked to think he didn’t. “Ya gonna accuse me of playin’ games? Really?” Tizzle stomped his foot, his boot barley making a noise against the putrid, molding moss beneath them. The action did send up a plume of foul smelling spores, though. When he’d managed to suppress his urge to gag, he shook his head, glaring at the troll’s chest, as he couldn’t really make eye contact. “How many times we tell ya not ta pull those groups a spiders? How many times we gotta say this is an important rescue mission? Wrach’s missin’. Fuck’s sake, Liila’s missin’. I’d think ya’d be willin’ ta take this shit seriously with _her_ gone.”

“Liila be fine. She always be fine,” Haa’aji dismissed, though he did look around as though a sign as to where their missing guild mates had gotten off to might be readily available. If Tizzle hadn’t already lost the family fortune, he’d have given all of it for something like that now.

That the guild stones weren’t working was a nightmare, and he couldn’t help but imagine his twin in all manner of horrible scenarios, desperately scrawling out message after message on her guild stone, trying to get him to come help her.

Messages that wouldn’t go through, for whatever reason.

What if she thought he was ignoring her? What if…

He kept telling himself that Wrachette was strong and could hold her own, but… But what if something happened to her, and it was his fault because he wasn’t paying attention when they got ambushed? He thought he remembered tossing a shield on her in the chaos of battle, but after that…

He’d figured she would have called out for help if she needed it. And that she hadn’t called out had been good.

Until it’d turned out she was one of the ones missing.

“She be fine,” Haa’aji murmured, slumping back down to his usual posture. “’n dey be found alreadeh if ya didn’ need ta ski’t around de edges a evereh damned room, yeh?”

“Have you found anything?” Their guild leader’s voice was a rolling boom in their ears as he interrupted the argument, spoken just loud enough to let them know that now was not the time for petty squabbling. Gore had been in a foul mood ever since the attack.

They were missing six people all together: Wrachette, Liila, Gregor, Enlyhn, Margaret, and Sham.

Gore had always said that if anything happened to Sham, those responsible would pay dearly. It had always been a sort of joke when spoken—a way to bring a laugh to the guildies present and to make an idle fear something silly.

Yet now…

Now Tizzle was worried.

It was the first time that Tizzle was really a primary healer in a smaller group with the old warrior, and wouldn’t it fucking figure that Gore had arthritis starting in his shoulder.

Or maybe it was already well underway.

The way orcs gritted past pain, the fact that Tizzle could even notice it meant it had to be bad.

They were invaders in an underground kingdom of undead spiders, and their tank had limited mobility in his shield arm.

If anything happened to Sham, Gore would move to make good on his word—no doubt in a blood rage, too—but Tizzle doubted he could actually deliver.

For the love of Capitalism, they were all gonna die down here.

Despite interrupting Tizzle and Haa’aji’s conversation, Gore had been addressing two other members of their small party—there were seven of them down there, all together. While that seemed like too small of a group in Tizzle’s mind—especially when there were nineteen guild mates accounted for—Gore had already promised aid to others, and he was nothing if not true to his word.

Which brought Tizzle back to the unsavory thoughts of his enraged guild leader leading them all to a miserable end, miles under the surface of the earth.

As Haa’aji tried to get into Tizzle’s bags, only to find the enchantments still very much in place, Tizzle pricked his ears to listen to what the others were saying over Haa’aji’s incessant grumbling that priests didn’t _need_ to use daggers anyway.

“Dere seem ta be some sort a fightin’ dat way,” Ta’lim pointed off in the general direction he was referring to. Even with his eye sight, Tizzle couldn’t see much. The chasm they were in might as well have been sprawling plains for all the distance there was. Were it not for the rock overhead casting everything into eerie darkness—mostly interrupted by glowing lichens and the ornate architecture of the spiderlords—Tizzle might have thought they were above ground.

There was _so_ much space.

He wondered how the ceiling didn’t just cave in on them.

That made his ears droop as he glanced up.

Gore nodded to the hunter, shifting his weight where he stood. Tizzle’s gaze snapped back down to the orc, and he immediately wondered if Gore had arthritis in his fucking hip too, or if he was just restless.

Please be restless.

“Could you tell if any magic was being used and what type?” Gore asked. The spiders didn’t seem to have shamans, so if there was any shamanistic magic, it’d be Sham or Wrachette.

Or some other idiots who got dragged underground.

Not that this sort of thing happened often, right? And anyway, Impervious was the first group to really show up in Northrend, so there couldn’t be _that_ many people _to_ drag under.

“Honestleh, it look like de spidas be fightin’ each otha.”

“Some of the nerubians are still alive,” Blood added. Blood had been the other scout to go with Ta’lim. While Tizzle would have though a death knight wouldn’t be good at stealth, he supposed that he did fit in in a land where everything was dead. Blood looked in the direction that Ta’lim had pointed. “Even if the others aren’t there, if we can help _them_ , they might be able to help _us_.”

“Moa people mean a fasta search,” Ta’lim added. “’n de spidas gotta know dis place betta den we eva will.”

Gore barely let him finish before shaking his head. “You want us to risk valuable time in what could be a…side quest, essentially.”

“Ah realleh tink it be savin’ us time in de end.”

Even as Gore seemed ready to argue, Haa’aji was abruptly behind him, leaning his chin on the top of Gore’s graying hair. “If ya weren’ so panickeh, ya’d say it was a good plan.”

Gore went rigid at being called out, though it quickly passed—not before his eyes could flicker dangerously, though. “They’ve been missing for _days_. We should have caught up by now. If we go in the wrong direction, we may never find them.”

Despite his worries, Tizzle could understand that sentiment all too well.

It felt like it should have been easy to find their missing guild mates. Granted, it _had_ taken them a day and a half to dig down into the caverns where they’d fallen—and that was _with_ magic. Earth magic hadn’t wanted to work so well here, though, which had made it take longer.

With all the necrotic energies in the air, it stifled natural magic. Even Tizzle’s connection to the Light felt weaker.

Or maybe that was just because there was a damned layer of rock between him and the sky.

How could he feel claustrophobic in a cave bigger than the entire city of Orgrimmar?

Even as he wondered if there were other cavern chains like this one in other parts of the world, it really hit him that natural magic was stifled down here.

Would Sham’s elementals even come to her aid if she called them? Would Wrachette’s?

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

They needed to find them.

If anything happened to Wrach…

If anything happened to her, Tizzle would help Gore make good on his promise, and there would be hell to pay.

 “Mon, Ah scouted de otha way,” Haa’aji protested. “Dea ain’ been nah signs a nehtin’ but spidas. Dead ones.”

“Undead.” One of the last two in their group, Zereesa, corrected. Tizzle wasn’t sure what to make of her, or why they’d brought her of all people with them instead of a guild mate—especially seeing as she seemed there mostly because she was Wrynn’s new lady friend rather than having ever proved herself in a guild trial—but Gore and Blood wanted to keep an eye on her, and she had turned out to be a decent enough fighter.

Though, she _had_ become considerably more withdrawn since the attack. When she’d parted ways with Wren to help them search for the missing members—much to her surprise—she’d slowly gotten quieter and quieter.

Now, it was easy to forget she was even there.

The last of their party, Sethyl, had been quiet, too, though that was mostly because he’d been stuck assisting with healing after Haa’aji had drawn so many enemies’ attention. The elf was frazzled, at best, his hair falling in unkempt, wilted spikes around his reddened face. He still hadn’t recovered from the last near death experience.

What a fantastic set of heroes they made…

However, before Tizzle could muse that he, Ta’lim, and Blood seemed to be the most put together in the party, Gore turned on Zereesa, eyeing her.

“Did _he_ take them?”

Blood’s eyes widened, their eerie glow blazing brighter, and if Tizzle could have seen his pupils, he imagined the undead orc’s gaze would have been darting between Gore and Zereesa, almost frantic.

“Gore, we agreed—”

“To the Void with what we agreed on,” Gore snarled and then reached out and caught Zereesa’s robe. “We know why you’re here and who you work for. Now tell us. Did _he_ do this?”

The slender elf seemed to wither under his fury, cringing down like if she tried hard enough, she might just disappear.

“Answer me.”

“Please don’t ask again,” she whispered.

“I’ll ask until you tell me what I want to—”

Quite abruptly, Gore was on his back, and Tizzle was shielding him as flames licked across his skin.

Death runes lit up along Zereesa’s skin, gleaming through the fabric of her robe in snaking patterns that must have taken weeks to make.

Zereesa’s eyes emitted a strange black light as she spoke again, and suddenly Tizzle understood why they’d kept her close. “Bloodsworn sends his regards.”

~!~

Soaked to the bone, Enlyhn continued down from his dais as he looked toward his newest minions. The spiderlords glanced at one another, chittering quietly before one finally held out a clawed hand toward the orc.

“Masssster, isssss there a reasssson for you to be…”

It either didn’t know the word for wet, or wasn’t sure how to phrase the question without sounding like it doubted his prowess.

Honestly, what did a warlock have to do to become an overlord of a domain without having idiots question him all the time? When he’d been captured by the nerubian spiderlords, he’d made quick work of their leader and then claimed the throne for himself quite easily. He was fairly certain a few of the spiders thought he was overstepping, but he’d already set most of those who disagreed with his rise to power on fire, so that was a non-issue, really.

He’d all but cemented his power, with his only regret that his guild stone wasn’t working well enough for him to let his guild know that he was fine and would still show up for raids but had finally found his place. There was no need for a search party.

And then he’d learned that he hadn’t been the only one in his guild to fall into the underground caverns when the nerubians had attacked them.

While he _could_ have played dumb and just pretended he hadn’t known anyone else needed help whenever his guild mates finally found him, his new minions had taken it upon themselves to bring him an offering to appease his ‘wrath’ or…something. He hadn’t really been listening to what they were saying.

His dream was to be an overlord, not someone who listened. That’s what friendships were for—and the main reason he refused to have any. If one truly wished for demonic mastery, one could not waste their time with ‘feelings’.

Ancestors and Demon Lords both, but listening was such an overly promoted skill.

Like what other people thought actually mattered to him.

Enlyhn furrowed his brow, ignoring the question altogether. “I told you to bring me all of the ones who fell through the earth. This is it?”

The spiderlords glanced over their shoulders at the two undead who stood behind them. Margaret swung her arms at her sides slowly, her shoulder joints popping loudly from the motion. “Aw, did you finally get to take over a kingdom? That’s so cute. Timmons and Mitchell will be jealous.”

Enlyhn took in a slow breath and held it. It was against guild policy to set guild mates on fire. And while he might be able to take out Margaret and convince his minions that they never speak of it or take the blame for her demise on his behalf, he doubted he’d have time to take out the other two as well.

And being dead would definitely put a damper on being an overlord.

“What have you done?” Gregor looked like he wanted to strangle Enlyhn. Of course one of the people who had fallen through to this underworldly paradise would have had to be the moral compass of the guild.

If nothing else, his incessant nagging would keep Enlyhn from enjoying his sovereignty to its fullest.

“I am the ruler of this domain,” Enlyhn began, closing his eyes and willing himself not to cast a chaos bolt when Margaret giggled at him.

Even as he opened his mouth to continue, Margaret pointed over his shoulder. “I hate to rain on your parade—even though apparently someone already did,” her glowing eyes formed little crescent moons as she made reference to his current, soaked attire, “but I don’t think you’re the one wearing the pants here.”

Though he was ready to argue against that stupid human colloquialism—what did pants have to do with authority, anyway—he heard a soft whisper of a voice behind him and turned to see one of the spiderlords had gone to his other guild mate—the one they’d tried to offer to him earlier and the one who had soaked him with a spell when he’d been ‘too glib’.

Sham.

The orcess was directing several of the spiders to do something, speaking to them in a kind, soft, apologetic voice. What was she telling them to do?

That didn’t matter, really. What mattered was they were _his_ spiders, and she shouldn’t have been taking over. This was Molten Core all over again.

For fuck’s sake. How had Enlyhn ended up in a guild full of people with consciences?

This wasn’t fair.  

Stepping down the dais, Sham stopped beside him, leveling him with a cool, calm gaze. “The nerubian spiderlords will be resuming rule over themselves. While I _doubt_ you intended it, you actually did take out a ruler who was trying to force undeath upon them, and to make them to submit to the Lich King. They are willing to assist us in returning to the surface in order to repay us for the overthrow of a corrupt government.”

Enlyhn did not move. His eye twitched.

With a cackle, Margaret hopped up the few steps between them and slung an arm over his shoulders. “You’re a hero, Enlyhn. You _saved_ people.”

Even as fire crackled around Enlyhn’s fingertips, Sham gripped his sleeve and jerked him closer to her. “If you even try it, I will summon my elementals. _All_ of them.”

Lower jaw sticking out a bit more as he slouched his shoulders, Enlyhns shrugged out from under Margaret’s grasp.

It was likely for the best, in the end. Being a demon overlord would be better than being a spider overlord any day. He just needed to find his way into a demonic plane. Then he would show them all.

He’d rain hellfire from the sky and—

Though Gregor seemed ready to press the issue of finding out just what Enlyhn had done, Sham cleared he throat rather loudly, recapturing their attention. “If you all are quite done, we need to get back to the surface, or at least find a place where our guild stones work so that we can let people know we’re alive and well.”

At that, Gregor glanced around the room, even as some of the spiders approached bearing their weapons that had been confiscated upon their capture. “We were the _only_ four to fall down here?”

“That’s what the spiders are saying,” Enlyhn muttered.

Though Gregor looked like he wanted to argue, he simply nodded, frown firmly in place. “We need to regroup then. Let’s go.”

~!~

“We need to go a different way,” Roberts murmured, appearing beside Whisper rather abruptly.

Rather than jump, she simply glanced down at him, brow arching. “Why? Some giant construct you think we can’t handle?”

The rogue’s lips dipped down into a rather heavy frown that almost looked like his facial muscles were finally detaching. However, rather than having his jaw drop off, he simply let out a withered sigh. “There’s Alliance up ahead, and I’d rather not have to deal with them.”

At that, Whisper nodded, understanding. They’d been making good time since they’d split from the main bulk of the guild. After the attack, Blood had suggested they get in contact with the other Knights of the Ebonblade, and both he and Shadow had been bothered by the fact that Leafless hadn’t responded to any of their queries. Each of them had tried multiple times to reach her, as had Howl, but the silence was deafening.

Further, without Leafless as a contact, they didn’t have a good way to reach any other death knights. They hadn’t really extended their network to the Ebonblade, seeing as Mitchell wasn’t particularly fond of death knights and didn’t want them in on the guild’s business, lest something go wrong.

It wasn’t an ungrounded fear, but it _was_ somewhat detrimental now, none-the-less.

Sure that his fellow death knights would be able to help during their quests in Northrend, Shadow had decided to go to one of the nearer Ebonblade outposts. Roberts, Sprocket and Whisper had volunteered to go with him. As soon as she had, she’d seen the look on his face and known what he finally opted not to say. He’d almost suggested that another healer come with him—Leafless’ problem was with both them after all, and he probably didn’t want to make things worse by having both of them show up at once—but whatever his reasons, he’d kept quiet.

Perhaps it was foolish and even harmful to the both of them, but she wanted to stay near him, and she couldn’t put to words how thankful she was that she could go with him this time. This time, she’d be there to keep him up.

So they’d headed off.

Yes, they’d made good time. After passing through a barren wasteland with dragons flying about, they’d reached a crystalline forest that looked like something out of a tale from before the world had been sundered. It was beautiful, and Whisper had been so distracted by the pretty trees that she almost hadn’t noticed the undead sneaking up on her until Roberts was upon it.

She was more attentive to her surroundings after that.

The mage city, Dalaran, loomed in the sky behind them, but Shadow had suggested they not take the time to go there just yet. He was pushing them as hard as he could, drawing Whisper up onto his undead mount as Roberts let Sprocket ride with him, just so they could keep going for longer.

Obviously they had to rest sometimes. Whisper wondered if he regretted having living members in his party or not, but kept her ponderings to herself, not wanting to point out that miserable rift between them.

However, even with breaks and the like, this was the first time they’d actually needed to change their course.

And Shadow was clearly displeased.

“The road—”

“Isn’t safe anyway,” Roberts countered before Shadow could finish his thought. “We’ll backtrack and wind around the other side of these ruins. That’ll skip the bulk of the spirits here.”

“And if the Alliance wind around the other way as well, not knowing that we’re avoiding them?” Shadow pressed.

Whisper was somewhat impressed that Alliance adventurers had made it this far into Northrend already. Had they come from the Howling Fjord? Or Had they always been a little ways ahead of them? There _was_ that Alliance fortress already in the Borean Tundra…

She dismissed the second idea. If these Alliance had been ahead of them, their group would have caught sight of them over the tundra and plains of the Dragon Wastes.

Perhaps their group was heading to Dalaran.

Seemed like their mages could have made contact much more easily, but she wasn’t about to argue the point. It was moot.

“We can declare ourselves peaceful if our paths cross,” Whisper suggested.

“They’re wearing war guild tabards,” Roberts insisted. “They won’t care if we’re Scourge or Horde. Either way, they’ll want to fight.”

“Let’s kick their asses,” Sprocket snapped before Whisper could consider how faction conflict would upset Gregor if word got back to him. When Whisper tried to quiet the mage, he shook his head so hard that his ears bobbed, the damaged one seeming to do so more than the other. As though to emphasize his point, he pointed both index fingers toward the chunk missing from his large ear. “Bastards came into my shop ta fuckin’ murder me, and ya want me to walk away?”

“We don’t even know that they’re the same people,” Whisper argued. “And realistically, they probably aren’t.”

“We don’t know they ain’t,” Sprocket snapped. “They chased me out of my damned home. My great grandfather founded that shop! Nearly killed Tizz and Wrach, too, unless ya forgot?”

“We can’t hold the entire Alliance accountable for what a few assholes did,” Whisper insisted. “You know that I think what happened was awful, but holding an entire group of people accountable for what _so_ few did is just…”

Even though Sprocket seemed ready to argue, Roberts simply hoisted him up onto his mount. “Let’s just go.”

There was something in his voice, an edge, a tinge of fear, and the other three caught that immediately.

Shadow’s brow knit together. Roberts was never afraid of anything. He stealth passed and sapped his enemies, picked them off and made fights even. “Is it a _whole_ war guild?”

That would certainly make him willing to take a longer path.

“It’s…look, can we just go?” Roberts insisted again, mounting behind Sprocket, a few joints popping loudly from the jerky movement. He paused to rub his knee as he settled into his seat.

Whisper could feel something amiss here, and even as Shadow started to argue that they really didn’t have time to be wasting, she nodded, reached out, and squeezed Shadow’s hand to quiet him. “Alright. If you think we need to go a different way, then we will.”

The look of relief that washed over the undead’s features—fleeting as it was—told her that she’d indeed made the right call, even as Shadow irritably turned his mount around. Part of her wanted to get Roberts alone during their next break and ask what had happened, but she was quickly distracted from that as Sprocket began to mutter about how they shouldn’t be so lenient on the ‘worthless humans’ and their allies.

That was a whole other topic unto itself. Roberts seemed to have no opinion on the matter—Whisper had a feeling she knew how he felt about the living, but he was never overly vocal about his disdain for heartbeats, like many Forsaken were.

Shadow seemed too lost in calculating what they would need to do to make up for lost time to pay attention to their mage’s rants, and so it fell to Whisper to try to calm him down, when their pace slowed enough for conversation.

“You know, just because one or two humans are awful, doesn’t mean they all are—”

“Wasn’t it the humans who told the tauren that they didn’t want to ally with beasts or some shit, leavin’ ya to fend for yaselves?”

Sprocket had definitely been ready for her protests and his words hit close to home. Whisper’s ear twitched as she fought not to take the bait. “What a few in power do doesn’t mean that all their people agree with it.”

“Didn’t help ya lot much when ya were fending off the quilboar, though, did it?”

Whisper frowned. “Well, the goblins didn’t help us, either. Should I blame you for my people’s constant wandering before the Horde?”

That gave him pause.

They hadn’t been backtracking for an hour when one of the lumbering crystalline defenders was upon them, flinging both Sprocket and Roberts from his mount and forcing them to address the damned creature instead of just outrunning it.

It wasn’t a hard fight with four of them, but when it ended with arrows downing the ancient corrupted tree, Whisper wasn’t sure what to expect. With Thunder Bluff still fresh in her mind, she kept her weapons ready, in case the next arrows were aimed at her or the others.

Shadow and the others had the same thought, ready to fight as they turned to see who had come up behind them. A night elf with bow drawn was standing a ways off, her saber ready beside her, and an arrow already nocked to her bow. In the least, she had it aimed toward the ground.

However, even as Whisper wondered if she should call out, a commotion sounded closer, and her attention snapped toward a human warrior half tumbling down an embankment to where Roberts was still hunched near a tree that he’d been knocked into during the fighting. Even as Whisper tossed him a heal, the warrior stopped in front of him, eyes wide.

Roberts looked like he’d been ready to stealth, but when he looked up, his expression was pained. Then he schooled it into something unreadable.

Silence fell over the crystal forest for an impossibly long moment before the warrior finally uttered a single word. “Trent?”

~!~

The battlefield outside of the Argent Vanguard was littered with corpses, both skeletal and fresh, and the air reeked of rot. Adrias hadn’t been this inundated in death since the siege of Silvermoon, and it was definitely back bringing flashbacks he usually drank away.

Little time was given for such thoughts.

He’d barely halted, trying to forget when the undead had marched on his family’s estate—they’d met with a lot more fire than the undead had anticipated, that was for sure—when the ground erupted beneath him, sending him sprawling backward across the ground.

He rolled out of the way as claws bore down, leaving deep gouges in the ground where he’d landed. With a command, his felguard was cleaving the nerubian in two. He couldn’t even count that as a victory. Already webbing was sticking around his felguard’s feet as two other spiders attacked.

Adrias lit them up, ignoring as they flailed and spread their flame across the barren landscape, setting a few scraggly shrubs a light as well. More were coming, skeletons, too, and he immediately regretted his earlier determination.

He had asked them when Gryst’lyn’s shift or watch or whatever it was would be over, and they’d laughed at him. Said Captain Emberdawn was a man possessed, that he never rested, never came in from the field.

So Adrias had decided to go out to him.

The area had seemed relatively clear, though that had obviously been a façade. He’d seen the forward group out in the distance and had decided that it likely wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to reach them and then he could persuade Gryst’lyn to go with him to Orgrimmar, and there would be a miserably sappy reunion, and he would be forgiven.

He would, wouldn’t he? Forgive Adrias for being…Adrias. For giving up on that stupid little priestess.

Now, however, it was clear that Adrias had made a miscalculation or two.

As more of the spiders closed in from all sides, he decided that pushing forward would be his best option. If he could get close enough, the fighters there could help him take out these creatures and then plans could resume as usual.

Setting his demon after different spiders as they drew too close, he sprinted toward the others, casting hellfire in his wake and hoping to whatever dark powers were out there that he would make it.

He could see the emblems on their tabards clearly when one of the rear archers of the group noticed him. The human woman shouted to the others and pointed in his direction just as claws dug into his back and slammed him into the ground. He could feel a bruise already forming along his jaw where it had hit a rock—or bone—in the snow as he managed to lift his head and look back. His felguard lay awkwardly a few yards back, finally overwhelmed by the damnable creatures.

Struggling to get one of his hands free from under him and pointed skyward, he conjured a shadowbolt, sending the spider on his back flailing backwards. Free, he struggled to get back to his feet. The cuts on his back, however, made it hard to move, and he fell into the dirty snow again.

That putrid smell rose up to engulf him, and he could see the past merging with the present, ghosts and echoes of people long dead waging a war that couldn’t be won. It was all so…futile.

He felt the uncomfortable prickle of holy magic and blinked a few times, coming back to the present.

The people fighting around him were not the ghosts of long dead guards, but the vanguard’s people. He’d made it.

He almost laughed at the notion that he’d somehow evaded death, when a gauntlet gripped his shoulder far too hard and flung him onto his back. Despite the healing, it still hurt more than it should have when he hit the muddies snow.

“What kind of fool— _Adrias_?”

The voice was familiar, though hard times had made it gruffer, but it was still that very voice that he’d missed so much.

Gryst’lyn stood over him, eyes wide. He had a scar running down one side of his face, a few peeking out beneath gaps in armor, and his hair was pulled back into a ponytail rather than allowed to fall freely, but it was him.

Even as he stared down at Adrias, his expression twisted with rage, and he gripped the warlock by the collar dragging him up. “You nearly got everyone here killed!”

Adrias couldn’t fault him for his anger, but it did pull him out of the awe that he was seeing his friend for the first time in years. “Amaeria—”

With a scowl, Gryst’lyn shoved him back toward the ground, letting go of his robe. “I should feed you to the spiders.”

“She’s alive!” Adrias cried out, forgetting his composure, forgetting how much he despised that little priest. If it would make Gryst’lyn hate him less… “Amaeria is alive, Gryst.”

~!~

“Look at them,” Bloodsworn murmured, watching the fields below them from the top of the cliffs overlooking the Argent Vanguard. “Insects waiting to be squashed.”

Leafless stood beside him, cold gaze sweeping over the ragged attempts at fortifications. It would be easy to break them down—they certainly had the numbers.

Though…they’d had the numbers at Light’s Hope Chapel, too, hadn’t they?

She pushed the thought from her mind. “Is there a reason that we’re here?”

“Someone has wronged me, and an example needs to be made.” Bloodsworn held up a hand, index finger pointed toward the sky. “I don’t suppose you could handle this? One of my pets is having difficulty with a fetch quest, and it looks like I’m going to need to do it myself.”

Tilting her head, Leafless stared down at the bloodied, rotting fields, tilting her head. “What do you need here?”

“His name is Adrias Duskflame.”


	42. A Little Bit of Angst

The fight against Zereesa was mercifully short, mostly because both Sethyl and Haa’aji thought to stun her before she could get off a decent spell.

While she was stunned, Blood hurried over and searched for the runes on her. As a death knight, he could bring them to the surface, and painful as it would be for her, the short-term pain would be worth her freedom.

Or so he assumed.

He’d cut through the runes that controlled her, and Tizzle had healed her well before the pain could even register.

And yet…

And yet she had shut down. Completely.

Blood was livid. They’d agreed that they would use her to lead them to wherever Bloodsworn was planning his attack, that they would let her spy on them, show him a weakened force, with guildmembers leaving and missing, hoping that it would draw the bastard out quickly.

For Gore to have thrown that all away just because Sham was missing…

He might as well call Lash and Cloudless back to the guild—while Cloudless hadn’t been in on the plan, he had picked an opportune time to decline adventure.

Leafless wasn’t in on the plan, either, and her continued absence worried Blood, but not nearly as much as how easily his guild leader had been moved to ruin everything.

He remembered what it was like to have a heartbeat, someone he loved fiercely, but now…they were warriors and wars weren’t won with stupid mistakes.

Sacrifices were sometimes necessary.

Even as he thought it, his mind flashed back to the men he’d led to their deaths in the Plaguelands. It had been because he’d been so caught up with his own quest for honor, for his own problems that they had died.

He didn’t want to see Gore get caught up in similar personal entanglements.

They needed a fearless leader, someone with an even head on their shoulders, someone—

“Gore!”

As Sham’s voice cut through the air, Blood’s attention snapped away from his guild leader to see the orcess darting through the underground mire toward them.

Even as the two embraced, Blood had to turn away.

Gore had thrown away their chance at cornering Bloodsworn when his wife was already safe and on her way back to them?

Couldn’t the living do anything right?

Even as he gritted his teeth, willing himself not to snap at the happy reunion, a hand brushed against his armor, and he blinked out of his dark thoughts to see Gobber standing there, a confused twist to his face and an indecipherable gurgle on what was left of his lips.

With a grunt, Blood reached out and patted the ghoul on the head before turning back to the others.

Gregor, Margaret, and Enlyhn had followed Sham, along with a few living nerubian spiders, who stood back a little, chittering quietly to one another as they watched the group reunite.

Blood was the one to bring up the obvious, even as Tizzle hopped up on a large mushroom-like growth to look back the way the others had come, searching for a face that was absent.

“Where are Liila and Wrachette?”

And with that, every last one of the faces around him fell, Gore’s most of all, as though it hit him on his own that he may have ruined their chances of finding them, should they have been taken by the monster they feared.

…-…

“Trent?”

Shit.

Roberts cringed away from the name without meaning to, peering slowly up at the speaker.

His brother.

When he’d gone to Stormwind, all those years ago, he’d promised himself that his brother would never lay eyes on him, that he would be allowed to think that Roberts had died however he pleased, honorably, stealing something petty, whatever.

He hadn’t been the best older brother in life—he’d always had sticky fingers—but he hadn’t wanted his brother to know him as this.

A walking corpse.

The warrior standing over him, Kenneth, stared down at him, a disbelieving look on his face as though if he blinked, Roberts would disappear.

For an instant, Roberts thought that perhaps the homecoming he’d always feared wouldn’t come to pass. Perhaps…perhaps his brother would see that it was still him, and not just another monster wandering this continent of corpses.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—recognition twisted into anger. Rage.

Kenneth balled his hands into fists, his gauntlets creaking with the force of it. “You…” His hand went to the sword on his back. “You should’ve stayed dead—”

Roots wrapped around Kenneth’s feet, rooting him in place. All Roberts needed to do was dart back a little ways, and he would be out of range.

And yet…

“I didn’t ask for this,” he whispered.

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” the warrior spat. “My brother’s an abomination, but he didn’t _want_ to be one?” His voice cracked on the last word as he shook his head. “You were supposed to be stronger than this.”

“He resisted the Lich King’s will,” Whisper snapped. She and Shadow had both lumbered closer, though Shadow stood back a few paces, weapon drawn, as Whisper looped around Kenneth to help Roberts to his feet. Was it just him, or was she standing taller than usual? He certainly felt like he had to tilt his head back further than usual to see her. “And he’s done a lot of good! You should be proud to know him!”

That made the warrior recoil, though he did pause to look around and see that Sprocket, still distant as he was, had fire dancing on his fingertips, and that he and his night elf companion were outnumbered.

“Thank the Light mother died before she could know you became this.”

Roberts brushed a bit of dirt off his sleeve, trying not to show how much the words stung. “Good thing…” _she didn’t live to see you turn into an ass_.

He didn’t say it though. He knew how much the living hated the undead—it was almost as much as the Forsaken resented the living.

To think, if he’d been a more selfish sibling, if he’d made sure to get on the caravan fleeing south instead of setting it up so that Kenneth could go instead, he’d be the Roberts brother with the heartbeat.

No good deed went unpunished, it seemed.

“We’re all here to slay the Lich King’s forces,” Shadow rumbled. The night elf’s bow was pointed toward the ground as she slowly drew closer. “We’re willing to leave here without a fight, if you are.”

The way he said ‘we’re’ somehow seemed to point out that there were more of them than there were Alliance.

After what could have been an eternity, Kenneth finally let go of his weapon, spitting on the ground as he glared at Roberts. “Pray, monster, that I never see you again.”

Somehow that, despite the threat it was meant to be, elicited a dry laugh from Roberts.

He wouldn’t.

…-…

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, maybe.

Possibly.

Actually, they were so far underground that it was impossible to know what the weather was actually like at the moment, but Haa’aji had always liked the notion that important things happened on dark and stormy nights, and so he decided that it had to be storming somewhere because today was going to be important.

Liila was still missing.

And Wrachette, too, though he wasn’t as concerned about that. While he’d told her twin that he was sure the little goblin was resourceful and fine or something, the sad truth of it was that he just cared more about his bestie than the rest of his guildmates.

They’d yet to have a guildmate actually die, too—well, not since they’d joined the guild, anyway—so perhaps that helped him to live in a noncommittal fantasy where worry over them was unnecessary.

It was hard to say, and Haa’aji didn’t give enough fucks to get to the bottom of it.

His group had found Sham, Enlyhn, Margaret, and Gregor assisting some arachnids and that was all well and good—it was nice that Gore was reunited with his love and that they were adorable together, as far as orcs could be—but neither he nor Tizzle had been fond of the way the group had been willing to put on the brakes and ‘rest’ now that they’d found most of their people.

They hadn’t found everyone, but their old man of a guild leader had worked himself up too hard and he’d needed to sleep for at least a decent stretch to be able to pretend he was a decade or so younger and capable of this little adventure.

The others were restless, too, and talking about discussing things with the nerubians to cast a wider search net, blah blah blah.

He was not going to wait, he was not going to twiddle his thumbs.

Thus, he’d done the only thing a morally unburdened troll could do. While everyone else was asleep, he’d snuck through the nerubian’s homes, found a fairly accurate map of the land and replaced it with a piece of paper that had a frownie face drawn onto it.

He’d almost stopped to try and make the frown less lopsided, but then figured that if his sorry ass guildmates were going to wait around and spend leisure time with spiders, they _deserved_ less than his best work.

So he left them that lopsided frown and headed off into the caverns on his own.

When he was certain he’d gone far enough where the idiots wouldn’t be able to disturb him even if their spindly new friends did bring it to their attention that the map was missing, he lay it out as best he could, using a few less grimy rocks to keep the edges of the map unfurled.

Why people didn’t ever guard things they _claimed_ were important was beyond him. Well, there had been guards and a locked door and some enchantments and other less interesting things, but seriously. He’d had to do _more_ work to steal paper from Gore and Sham’s house back in Orgrimmar. And they didn’t even have window panes.

Sham had set up an electric current along the edges of the openings though, but Haa’aji could get through so long as he was paying attention. And the occasional zap did do wonders for his hair, so he couldn’t really be too upset when he messed up.

However, his spiky hair was wilting with the dampness that clung to the air here, and that only put him in a worse mood.

Honestly, with Liila missing, everything went wrong. His hair, his frownie faces, his teamwork skills.

Sitting cross-legged so that he could exam the map, he forgot all that as he tried to figure out what he could do. There were so many ways that they could have gone and the map had multiple levels to it that weren’t all that clearly displayed in the drawings—perhaps some of it was because a spider’s spatial perception might be a bit different from most bipedal creatures.

It could take years to explore all those different tunnels and openings.

And then there was the real possibility of encountering the undead or worse.

For a moment, Haa’aji almost conceded that a group sweep through the areas might be the best course of action after all.

Then, even as he reached to move the rocks that held the map down, a thought occurred to him and he paused, body still partially stretched over the oddly-water resistant paper.

Sitting back, he drummed his fingers against his knees a moment and then began to shuffle through his bag. Surely he’d managed to steal enough odds and ends that he could come up with a proper offering and…

…-…

“Ya think, maybe, if we just ask even nicer than last time, they’ll give ‘em back?” Wrachette asked as one of the gorlocs looped another flower crown over her head, perching it upon her large ears.

“We already promised to make them their own,” Liila murmured, inspecting a spiky fruit from the bowl in front of them as she, too, was adorned in a new flower crown. Rather than disinterested with life, Liila just looked tired, like being on this continent was somehow more than she could bear.

Wrachette shifted a little where she sat, unsure what to say or do.

When they’d fallen into the earth, she and Liila had managed to stick together, and had fallen further than the others. Gregor, Wrachette knew, had fallen, but he’d been closer to the surface, so surely the guild had found him.

She and Liila, however, had recognized that they were likely out of reach, and had taken to trying to find their own way back up, especially after they found their guild stones weren’t working. They’d evaded giant spiders and the like, with Liila pulling them into the shadows when they were cornered so that they could slip past unseen.

They’d been wandering, lost, when Wrachette had sensed something.

It had been something wrong, but that was hardly an issue, was it? Something was always wrong.

They’d wound their way up through the earth, finding themselves in a rocky cavern with corrupted earthen elementals and then…

They’d been so exhausted that they’d fallen asleep next to a stream, thankful to have the stars overhead again, only to wake up surrounded by gorlocs who praised them for ‘bringing the shiniest shinies’.

Their guild stones.

There was a bit of a backlog on the stones’ messages, and the two of them had spent the last few days watching their stones light up with words from friends and family, unable to check what the messages actually were, because the gorlocs were certain that the stones were something most holy.

And so they were stranded.

But at least the flower crowns smelled nice and the gorlocs seemed to want to be friends rather than sacrifice them to any old gods or anything of the like.

And if there was a real emergency, surely Enlyhn or Timmons would summon them, right?

While she was a bit annoyed that they hadn’t _already_ gotten summons back yet, she couldn’t say she was too upset over it.

After all, this was the adventure she’d always wanted to go on. The kind of thing she always missed while she was back, helping Tizzle run their old tavern.

This…

This was great!

If only she could let Tizzle know that she was fine, it would be the perfect adventure.


	43. The Unexpected

When Lash had agreed to join with the members of Blood and Honor in their trek across the continent, he’d worried that their adventures would be like what had happened in Thunder Bluff, that the fighting would be seemingly endless and all the while he’d be wondering if the Alliance he was cutting down were people his former guild mates had known.

It was with much relief that he found their adventure started out much as anything with Impervious, with rations gathered, supplies checked, and a long, winding procession of people heading off into the world.

Blood and Honor spoke less than Impervious did, many of the members making a show of the attention they were keeping to their details. He’d tried to talk to Kiaga twice, only to have Embry shush him.

That stung a bit.

However, he figured he’d likely dug himself that grave by playing the fool in their last meeting, during that awful inquisition—or whatever it had been—and so he took to surveying the land.

Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to pretend he was tense, instead casually surveying their surroundings and making mental notes of places where they could hide, where enemies could hide, what sort of wildlife seemed friendly…the usual hunter stuff.

On the third day that they’d been traveling, undead attacked.

To say they attacked felt like a bit of a misnomer.

It felt so much more brutal than that.

Suddenly they were everywhere, clawing, biting, hissing, screeching.

It wasn’t really all that different from the usual sort of thing that happened to Impervious, except this lot seemed more on edge.

Not that they weren’t excellent fighters. Any one of them was impressive to watch, and they moved well enough together, but it…

It wasn’t the same.

As he considered that he’d had one hell of a guild to set the bar, he dragged himself up onto a small, elevated bit of rock and spent most of the fight picking off enemies who started to overwhelm others.

At one point, Lisp got hooked by an abomination and dragged nearly twenty feet.

Lash had taken out the gargoyles that had tried to pick at him as Lisp fought the abomination himself.

Only once did any of their enemies notice him, and that ghoul was dead before it could get to the bottom of his vantage point to climb up.

When the fighting had finished, Duskeh trotted back to him—the saber cat was trained to do the same sort of support assistance—and he hopped off the ledge, sauntering over to where the others were regrouping and idly wondering what their policy was for looting corpses.

Abruptly, a hand slapped down on his shoulder and he looked up to see Taknar standing beside him, a crooked grin punctuated by his tusks. “Well fought, Blood eye.”

Lash nodded a little awkwardly. He was used to the occasional praise from his guild mates, but this…this hadn’t been anything worth being praised for.

“He’s so relaxed because he’s too simple to understand the danger,” Embry muttered from somewhere off to the side. Duskeh growled and Lash hushed them, pretending he hadn’t heard.

So that was it.

They all thought him an idiot, and were impressed that he could aim his damned bow.

Did they not believe the story of how he’d earned his name?

Lash had never heard of anyone having to defend their surname or prove that they had earned it before, though he’d always interacted with people who were so much more…laid back.

He really was going to spend the rest of his life comparing everyone to his guild, wasn’t he?

 _Former_ guild.

He accepted the praise with a smile and watched as Taknar moved on, offering a few words to a few others as he appraised how badly they’d been hit and the like.

With a heavy sigh, Lash glanced around, looking for one of the familiar faces he preferred. Kiaga was talking with Murk, and he almost headed over to them, when he noticed Lisp off a few feet from the rest, reaching into the snow and plucking things from it.

Curious, Lash headed over to him, pausing when he realized that Lisp was muttering something under his breath, too low to make out.

Even as he thought to call out to the rogue, the forsaken’s head snapped up, glowing eyes honing on him in such a way that Lash stopped dead in his tracks.

Lisp watched him for a moment, unmoving, unbreathing, and then let out a loud swear. “My damned pockets emptied when I got caught by that abomination.”

With a sympathetic laugh, Lash sauntered closer. “I’ll help you look. What all did you lose?”

“It’s fine,” Lisp said, a bit too quickly.

Lash stopped in his tracks. The forsaken’s shoulders were sagging more than usual, but there was that ever present tension in him, and for the briefest of seconds, Lash could have sworn he saw fear on the man’s face.

“I already picked everything up,” Lisp said, slipping up to Lash and turning him back toward the rest of the group. “Nice shooting, by the way…”

Their group spent a little while longer healing up and taking tally of busted supplies before heading off. Despite their enemies being dead, none of them wanted to wait there for another attack, and so they’d decided to go a little further before setting up camp.

As the last few things were tied onto steeds and the like, Lash felt fur brush against his hand and looked down to see Duskeh sitting beside him, something clamped between his jaws.

When Lash held out his hand, the cat dropped a small package into his hand.

No, not a package. It was little more than an envelope with an awkward bulge on one side.

Even as Duskeh rubbed against his hand for a scratch behind the ears, Lash read the name listed on the center of the letter, and stilled.

_To my dear, old friend and neighbor, Gregor Smithson._

It had to be something of Lisp’s, yet somehow, when Kiaga called for Lash, rather than hand it back to the rogue, he slipped it into his vest’s inner pocket and swung up on his worg.

…-…

Liila perked up as she heard Zandali swearing. Wrachette was conked out asleep already—no doubt trying to think of how to get their stones back from the gorlocs who were still adamant about keeping them and too damned cute to just maul to get them—but her large ears did prick at the sound.

It wasn’t enough to wake her.

Slipping out of the odd nest the gorlocs had made her—it was surprisingly comfortable, made of large, lush leaves and soft grasses—Liila quietly plodded along a thin path that led into the surrounding jungle, nodding once to a gorloc guard as she stepped past him.

She’d barely turned a corner, blocking the guard and entrance to the little village from view before two arms were wrapped around her, and her feet were dangling in the air.

“D’ya tink ya could nah go missin’ like dat again?”

With a faint smile, Liila reached up and patted Haa’aji’s arm, the feel of the mosses that grew on his skin soft beneath her fingertips. “I’ll try.”

He set her down with relative care before straightening up to tower over her, arms crossed. “So ya know, everehbodeh be panickin’ dat ya be missin’. Hope ya know where Wrach be, too?”

“She’s here. The Gorlocs stole our guild stones, so we haven’t been able to use them.”

“Wan’ meh ta get ‘em back for ya?”

“That would be wonderful,” Liila nodded, only to reach out and catch his wrist as he started to slip past her. “Don’t hurt the gorlocs though. We like them.”

Haa’aji switched to his native tongue to mutter a few curses about women and their need to like all the cute little critters before slipping into the shadows and disappearing.

Liila considered going bac to the village to wait, but it wouldn’t be wise. Now that Haa’aji had found them, they would need to get moving. They could always come back with a proper apology gift of something extra shiny for the gorlocs, but for now…there was work to do.

Mostly, there was Scourge to kill.

She wandered all the way down to a small stream that led east toward where the undead had begun to assault the basin. While she and Wrachette had gone a few times to stem the tide of undead forces, they hadn’t dared leave the village for too long, lest their guild mates find a way to track their stones and think the worst of the gorlocs.

After all, they were way too damned cute to let Timmons set them on fire.

Just as she paused to pluck a lily from the water’s edge, she felt that she wasn’t alone anymore. Glancing over, Haa’aji looked burdened with her gear, her stone held out to her in one hand, and Wrachette and her belongings slung over his over shoulder.

The goblin was still asleep.

With a slow, half grin, Liila took her stone, relieved to have the cool feel of it in her palm again.

It was time to have some fun.

After all, she hadn’t died as many times as she had to let life pass her by.

…-…

“That was the Aspect of Magic!”

Cloudless crossed his arms as he leaned back against the old, worn wall, watching Skybow pace furiously as he tried to sort out the fight they’d just won. Cloudless supposed he’d been eased into the whole killing Gods and saving the world from hidden threats deal, but Skybow…

Perhaps they should have started with quests in the Barrens…

Taking in a slow breath, Cloudless started to get up, but paused when Skybow whirled on him, bewilderment in his eyes. Cloudless held up his hands. “He was mad and was kidnapping and killing mages.”

Skybow’s mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, brow pinching together, raising, scrunching down to accompany the array of emotions tumbling through him.

“That was one of the entities that kept our world in balance!” He finally managed again.

“And he was corrupted by the old gods,” Cloudless explained, walking slowly to his lover. “We wouldn’t have fought him otherwise.”

“Old gods!” More soundless exclamations were accompanied with sharp, ambiguous hand motions. The steer’s tail twitched spastically. “What if an old god had shown up?”

“We would have dealt with it like we did the last one.”

That brought on a quiet.

It wasn’t immediate, but rather, slowly, the gears in Skybow’s head fell into place and his hands hung limp at his sides. “That’s what Anonymous does.”

With a slow nod, Cloudless reached out and put his hands on Skybow’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. “And that’s why the guild is so important to me. We…we do what no one else can.”

“And you never told me?”

The words were unexpected, and abruptly, Cloudless felt like the earth beneath his hooves was ready to crumble out from under him. It was his turn to search for words that wouldn’t come, and after what felt like a miserable eternity, he finally settled on the only ones that were repeating in his mind. “How do you tell someone you love that you kill gods?”

“How do you not?” Skybow retorted. That hurt look that had finally been ebbing these last few weeks was back, and it felt like a knife in Cloudless’ chest

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I worried anyway. And that was when I thought you were having minor adventures, saving wild animals and occasionally helping an outpost.”

“I…” Cloudless searched for the words, floundering. “Everything I’ve done has been to keep you and the world you live in safe.”

Skybow shook his head slowly, taking a step back as Cloudless reached toward him, and then hesitated. After a breath, he shook his head again, and turned away, hooves crunching sharply against the freshly fallen snow in Coldarra.

Perhaps bringing Skybow out here to see what they did hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

As Cloudless wearily headed back to the Kirin Tor’s camp, Renza’shi stood behind a tree not far from where he and Skybow had been, eyes wide as he stared at where the tauren had argued.

He’d been sent out to find the tauren and tell them to come back so that plans could be made and an idea of who would be traveling with them could be formed, but when he’d seen they were arguing, he’d figured he would turn back and let them find their way on their own time.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, and yet…

Impervious was Anonymous?

The notion had stopped him in his tracks.

In a way, it explained so much, but at the same time there was no way that such a disorganized group could really be…

There was no way.

Impervious, the guild that never outshone the others, yet somehow always had the respect of high ranking figures, the guild that disappeared for days and weeks only to come back with weak stories of silly escapades and…

And all the while they were the ones who took down gods and threats that Renza’shi had never considered being able to fight against himself.

More than that, he had.

He’d helped Anonymous fight and defeat the Aspect of Magic…

Loa help him, this was getting too crazy.

…-…

Gryst’lyn wiped some blood from his lip as he ducked behind an unnecessarily pointy candle holder or…something. Honestly, he wasn’t completely sure about Scourge architecture. Most of it—if not damn near all—was largely pointless.

Well, pointlessly pointy.

He thought he’d grown used to the cold these last few years, fighting the Scourge here in Northrend, and yet, somehow, being in the halls of his hellish place were worse. It was as though the cold emanated from the stones themselves, siphoning any warmth out of anything that dared get too close.

Be that as it may, Gryst’lyn couldn’t turn back.

Yes, he’d spent the last few years hating Adrias for his willingness to give up—more than that, it was because he’d saved him.

Gryst’lyn had failed the love of his life, and even gotten her best friend killed in an attempt to save someone who was already lost. He his beloved hawkstrider had fallen thanks to his foolishness.

When the Sourge had overcome their little search party—against all common sense, they’d gone to where Amaeria had disappeared to try to find her—he’d been ready to die. Ready to join her in whatever came next, be it the afterlife or as a shambling corpse at her side.

And Adrias had used his soulstone on him, had dragged him back to the world of the living, the world where he had failed every person he’d ever loved.

He hadn’t been able to look at Adrias the same, and had wanted to fix this mess.

And then, worse, he’d figured out that something was amiss, reports were not adding up, and he’d tried to get the answers he needed as to what had happened, how his love had been lost. He’d nearly committed treason for it, and Adrias had begged him to stop.

Amaeria was dead and nothing he did would bring her back.

But he couldn’t stop.

He could see her smile in his dreams, see the corpses coming at Silvermoon, and in each face, he feared that he would see her.

If he could not get justice within their city, he’d left to attempt to get it elsewhere. He would find Amaeria—what was left of her—and put her to rest.

He’d been saved a second time, far within Scourge territory, but the Argent Dawn, and they had given him purpose once again. They too fought to end the Scourge, to bring peace to those who had been lost.

He’d led countless groups through the Plaguelands, never once finding evidence of his love, when they had decided to form the Argent Crusade and strike at the heart of the Scourged lands.

At this point, he hadn’t expected to find her, to be able to recognize her corpse if he did come across it, and so he had simply fought to put an end to a nightmare, or in the very least put a dent in the forces that had taken her from him before he fell to them himself.

And then suddenly Adrias had been there, fucking everything up, and spouting madness.

_Amaeria is alive._

Gryst’lyn was beyond that hope, but to see his former friend taken by that damnable death knight had struck a nerve. While he doubted he could forgive Adrias for all that had happened, he couldn’t stand by and have yet another person who had mattered so much to him fall to the Scourge.

Not again.

And that was why, against all odds, despite all warnings and common sense, he now snuck into one of the buildings near the heart of the Scourge itself. It was an intricate laboratory, with all manner of gargoyles and geists guarding it.

Funny how pilfering the right amulet of the right minion had gotten him this far.

Now, though, he needed to go further than a regular cultist would be allowed. Only the dead wandered the halls beyond, the halls where Adrias had been taken.

Taking in a measured breath, he waited for the latest patrol to walk by, crouching within the shadows of the hall, steeling himself to make a run for it as soon as they turned the corner.

As his muscles tensed and he shifted his weight, ready to run, a hand fell on his shoulder, whirling him around.

So much for stealth.


	44. Regrouping

Shadow let out a low sigh as he saw familiar architecture and tents in the distance. While they were a relief to him, the rest of his party seemed weary upon noting the skulls that adorned the pole tops and the like.

When he gave her a reassuring smile, Whisper tried to sit a bit taller, as though to prove that she wasn’t afraid.

Despite knowing his guild mates were likely to be uncomfortable around so many undead—even if they were the friendlier sort—he couldn’t help the urge to get there faster.

Since things had gone south with Roberts’ brother, there’d been almost no conversation among their group, and it had made time drag on miserably.

Twice, Whisper had tried to get them going on something trivial, but Roberts’ mood had been so infectious that no one had been able to stay chipper for long.

It was a common fear among the undead, that they would find people from their past lives and learn that the ones they had loved were not as perfect as they remembered them. That they were not as loving and caring.

Or forgiving.

The first time Shadow had seen Whisper after his undeath, he’d felt like everything had ground to a halt, like the world had decided he hadn’t suffered enough and was hellbent on making up for that.

Liila had dragged him to meet with her guild leaders upon finding him in Orgrimmar, and Whisper had been hanging out, discussing shamanistic theory with Sham.

The way she had looked at him… There had been curiosity, recognition, relief, realization, horror, and then, finally fear.

All in the span of so few seconds.

He’d never asked her, but he knew that when she first saw him, she thought he’d somehow made it back to her.

If he’d known their paths would cross, he wouldn’t have gone with Liila, but then…how likely was it that the little elf he’d saved all those years ago would be the one to reunite him with his former love?

Current love, really, though he tried not to act on it.

In those few seconds, as Whisper had risen to her feet, eyes locked on him, he’d waited for what he knew was to come, the screaming, the anger, the fear, the mourning.

And instead, she stormed up to him and wrapped her arms around him so tightly, never saying a word.

He’d been the one to break down crying.

He’d been so sure he didn’t deserve redemption, didn’t deserve anything other than the bile and contempt of the people in Orgrimmar.

To have her accept him, regardless, had been…

There were no words.

There were no words, but it had been a change to his soul. Sometimes it felt heavy, knowing that she was still so bound to him, and other times he was just so glad that she still saw him as the steer he’d been.

Impervious as a whole were so accepting that sometimes he forgot the world wasn’t always like that.

He forgot that there were plenty of people out there—Alliance and Horde both—who couldn’t accept someone without a beating heart.

Roberts had been a grim reminder, and he felt guilty and helpless. He wanted to tell his guild mate that he still had a family, a better one than that arrogant human prat had ever been, but then he thought of what he would have done if Whisper had cursed his name, and he knew that there was nothing that could replace her, nothing that would have been able to ease that pain.

And so they road in silence. That was, of course, until his guild stone burst to life with messages from one particular idiot that he was most pleased to hear from.

_Liila – Shadow. Haa’aji says you’re going to the other death knights for help killing him?_

She didn’t say the name, but they both knew who she was talking about. As soon as he scrawled out a quick affirmative, her reply flashed to life, as though she’d already had it typed up and waiting.

_Liila – Don’t. He very likely has eyes in the Ebon Blade, and we can’t trust that he won’t find out what you’re doing. Zereesa has been freed, so he has to know we’re on to him. We need a different approach._

Shadow frowned, not even realizing that he’d stopped his mount. _What do you suggest?_

Liila’s response was a simple smiley face.

…-…

Staring out over the waters that stretched all the way back to Kalimdor and all the places that had a decent temperature, Lash tapped his fingers against the note in his hand.

The last time he’d read something unbidden, there had proven to be no reason, and he’d realized how foolish it had been, and yet…

Something about the shaky handwriting and the fact that it was addressed to his guild leader—the ink was old, far too old for this to be a relatively recent message—had him on edge.

If he opened the letter and read it, he would probably see that it was nothing again, that he was letting himself be paranoid.

He really ought to return the letter to Lisp.

And yet, Lisp hadn’t wanted him to find this. He’d stopped looking when there was a chance someone else might turn it up, and that…

What could be in this letter to Gregor that could be so embarrassing or damning or…whatever that Lisp was willing to lose it rather than have a friend bring it back?

Lash tapped the edge of the envelope against his knee and glanced over at Duskeh. The saber had curled up with his worg and the two looked miserably cold.

He felt a trill of guilt run through him. He should have left Duskeh and brought an animal more adept for the cold.

If that had happened, he might have never gotten this damned letter, never felt this compulsory need to open it.

Haa’aji would have already read it. Half his guild—former.

When Gore had pulled him aside, he’d said that there was a larger picture, and he’d love to tell Lash about it someday, but that day wouldn’t be for a while. Gore had asked him not to feel slighted, promised that it would all make sense later.

How much later would he have to wait?

There were too many questions rolling around in his head and no good way to get any damned answers.

Except for one.

His gaze focused on the letter again, on the shaky ways the individual letters had been written.

At worst, it would be a love letter, right?

Lash glanced around and made a point to shiver in case Murk—it was his turn to keep watch over the camp—saw him and then carefully undid the seal on the envelope.

The old paper sprang apart and Lash tugged out another piece of paper that had been folded around something.

When he opened it, he found a small, old pocket watch, the chain long broken. There was blood trapped in a few crevices and the time had stopped years ago. Flipping the watch over, Lash stilled as he read the inscription on the back.

_To my dear son. Maybe now time won’t pass you by so easily. -Gregor_

Lash felt like a pit had opened in his stomach as his gaze slid to the letter that started,

 _Words cannot express how sorry I am_ …

…-…

Sethyl’s ears pricked up as they walked, just as Margaret and Enlyhn both stopped. He didn’t even realize that he was fumbling around for his guild stone until he saw the two casters pulling their own out.

The rest of their party came to a slow stop as they looked around to see the three, and then suddenly everyone was digging through their pockets and bags for the stones they’d let get buried as they continued not to function properly.

Whatever it was down in the depths that kept the stones from working apparently didn’t reach up this close to the ground, and Sethyl felt more than a little nauseous as he pulled his out and watched green flicker over the surface, symbols changing far too fast for him to read any one message.

After a moment, they stopped and he let out a small sigh of relief. However, that relief turned toward a quiet envy as he looked up and saw the others’ stones were still flickering with considerably more messages than he’d received.

He tried to suppress the want to grumble, as Margaret darted over to him, that same earlier relief on her face.

She had her hands cupped around her stone, and they could still see the light flickering between her fingers, almost pulsing as the messages flickered by so fast.

“Thank the Lady yours is already done, listen…” Margaret nodded toward his stone and said something a bit too quickly about how to tap through to filter which messages he looked for.

When he was a bit too confused to follow, she traded stones with him, fingers tapping and swirling across its surface with an eerie grace.

As soon as she paused, a message lit up on the stone she was holding. Without looking up, she motioned to it. “I’m sending out a guild broadcast using your stone. So everyone with a working stone will get it.”

_This is Margaret. Do not send any group messages for a while. Our stones somehow got messed up and we’re being flooded too fast to see anything. And honestly the spell’s straining to catch up. Howl—and Haa’aji, Liila, or Wrachette, if you can see this—can you message Sethyl privately?_

Before that message could even begin to dim, another was in its place.

_Howl – Margaret! You’re alright, I take it? Is Sethyl? And everyone?_

Even as Margaret began to scrawl out that they were fine, save for the three mentioned, four more short messages popped up, interrupting her writing.

“You have your stone set on such simple settings,” Margaret grumbled, frowning that her work had been undone. “I’ll fix it and show you how to do cooler stuff later.”

_Haa’aji – I am dead. So sad._

_Liila – Hey._

_Wrachette – TELL TIZZLE I’M ALIVE!!_

_Howl – If Tizzle’s with you, I’m supposed to tell you to tell him that Wrachette is alive. And well._

Haa’aji’s words were written in clear Thalassian, which made Sethyl roll his eyes, though he was a bit relieved to see that everyone who was missing responded.

Even as he looked up, he saw that quite a few of his guild mates had gathered closer to watch the one stone that had gotten almost no messages—how were so many of theirs still playing catch up?

Tizzle abruptly launched himself onto Ta’lim’s back, who was standing on Margaret’s other side. Even as the troll hissed something about just asking for a boost, Tizzle was leaning over, peering down at the stone. “They got word on—”

“She’s fine,” Sethyl interrupted, glancing down to see that the messages had faded and Margaret was again scrawling something out. Haa’aji sent a few more nonsensical messages that interrupted her writing before she finally went in and adjusted Sethyl’s settings for his stone.

He had a feeling he wouldn’t know how to use it for a while.

Then, as she scrawled out what she’d been trying to say for some time, they all watched Haa’aji’s messages appear above what she was writing.

Sethy’ls brow pinched together as he realized it was the lyrics to some old song he remembered learning about in school. Something the Amani trolls sang when they were going to battle.

Of course he was in a guild with an Amani troll.

He’d known for a while, but somehow, it still surprised him that the troll would have the gall to type out that old war song. Especially to _his_ stone.

Even so, he was glad to know that they were alright, and glad that their idiot rogue had been successful. When he’d made off with the map, Gregor and Gore had both been beyond angry. They’d sworn about how much of a fool he was, and how he would get them all killed one day.

Sham had calmed them by assuring them that Haa’aji wouldn’t go off on his own without utter confidence that he’d be fine. To her, that had meant he was off sulking somewhere and that he would be back in a few hours.

Those few hours had turned into a day, and then the next, and then the next, and then Sham had been lecturing the shadows that they were being childish and needed to stop worrying everyone.

And to think, the troll had gone off and at least found his way to the surface. After all, he was answering his stone.

Knowing that everyone was alright was a great relief to the lot of them, and after a few minutes of back and forth with Howl, Margaret suggested they get above ground before they made any plans to summon and regroup.

Slowly, the others’ stones caught up and calmed down. First Tizzle’s and then Ta’lim’s. Enlyhn’s and Gore’s.

Margaret’s was the last to catch up, and Sethyl had noticed that not all of her messages were the color of the guild chat, which made him wonder just how many people had been missing her.

In fact, it wasn’t until they could feel that blessed, fresh wind winding down the tunnels to them that hers finally went dark. Instantly, she’d traded stones back and begun to scroll through her backlog, somehow never losing her footing or stepping on one of the awkward rocks.

Blood and Zereesa were the last out and into the open air. Zereesa had fallen silent since the runes controlling her had been broken, and while she didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone, she certainly hadn’t wanted to be left behind.

As Margaret asked her if she’d like a portal back to Silvermoon, Blood frowned down at his stone. He noticed Sethyl watching him as he looked up and shook his head. “Still no word from Leafless.”

…-…

“Do your worst, you vile—”

Leafless closed her eyes and willed herself not to skewer the idiot elf she’d found wandering Bloodsworn’s laboratory. He’d been anything but subtle—how had he survived this long was beyond her—and so she’d finally taken him herself so that the geists would stop tailing him in that ever growing group on the upper walls.

And of course, he hadn’t been willing to listen to her when she told him to stay quiet, so she’d had to knock him out and drag him somewhere safe—er. Somewhere safer, seeing as they were in fucking Icecrown and there was nowhere safe for the living.

Fucking heartbeats.

And then, as though she wasn’t having to put up with enough stupidity as it was, he’d woken and declared her a monster and had actually tried to fight her bare-handed when he’d realized that his weapons and armor had been taken from him.

When she’d stripped him of his gear, she’d felt foolish, though now she was glad she’d done it.

He might have actually gotten a good hit in, otherwise.

As it was, the short little creature was fuming from where she’d tied him to a chair, cursing her existence and telling her all the terrible things he was going to do to her so soon as he got free.

“Would you just shut up?” Leafless muttered, without meaning to actually voice her growing disdain.

The elf straightened up as best he could against his restraints, ears pricking up sharply as his blue eyes burned with hatred. “You think you can steal my best friend and I’ll just—”

Leafless felt a twinge of satisfaction as she silenced the elf with a strangulate. Guilt probably should have followed that, but the elf just talked so. Damned. Much.

She wasn’t going to be able to keep the idiot a secret if he kept this up. She needed to tend to her…duties to keep Bloodsworn complacent, and she couldn’t very well do that if this idiot was screaming, garnering attention from everything with even a smidgen of functioning brain left.

Worse, if she left him thinking that she was an enemy, he’d fight to get free and then…then she’d have to deal with finding him before he could get himself killed _again_.

She’d been offended when Bloodsworn had first come to her, acting as though she might actually believe his nonsense just because he drew a few similarities between the two of them.

And then she’d considered that maybe she could do something no one else could.

Maybe she could earn his trust.

It had been easy to play into his hands, to feign the weak hearted lass who couldn’t bear the burden of her sins, who needed a hand to guide her.

However, he wasn’t so stupid that she could turn the tables on him immediately. First, she’d need to prove that she really was back under the Lich King’s sway. That…had not been something she’d enjoyed.

Gathering Adrias—Duskflame implied he was related to Wren, which made her wonder about why the warlock had been wanted to begin with—had resulted in what would have looked like casualties from a glance, though she’d done her best not to outright kill any of the Argent Crusade members.

She almost wished she had, staring at the idiot who’d somehow managed to follow her here.

He was going to ruin everything.

The second strangulate wore off, he was swearing again, hissing angrily and jerking hard enough that his chair came off the ground a few times.

With another cast, Leafless strode over to him, and gripped the chair’s armrests—easily encircling his arms with them—and glared into his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you, you stupid, stupid creature.”

Even as he glared at her with incredulity, she dropped her voice, leaning a little bit closer. “I am going to find a way for you to get out of here, and you are going to go. I can’t babysit you when there is much to be done.” The elf snapped his head forward, trying to headbutt her, though she easily leaned back in time. With a pronounced sigh, she shook her head. “Listen. If you can’t stay here quietly, then I’ll just have to knock you unconscious again. I will see you out of here, and I promise that I will do what I can to keep Adrias alive. He’s the one you’re worried about, yes?”

The elf simply scowled.

Even as she held up a gag, glaring at him, the door to the side room she’d stored him in groaned and snapped open. Her wards had been subtle, but apparently not enough so.

Bloodsworn stood in the doorway, head tilted as he inspected the scene before him.

Then, slowly, he grinned. “The geists said you’d found a friend. I was a bit surprised, but it looks like you just wanted someone to play with yourself.” He strolled into the room, appraising the elf as he gasped, his voice finally returning to him again. “It is hard to get these little creatures to shut up about themselves, isn’t it?”

When the elf tried to curse him, Bloodsworn cast his own strangulate as he walked over to the elf’s belongings. He inspected the various pieces with disinterest before he stopped on the badge that the elf had carried.

He ran his fingers over the name, eyes widening before he looked back at Leafless, giddiness contorting his rotten features. “Do you know who this is?”

“An Argent Crusade captain—”

“Oh, he’s so much more.” Bloodsworn spun around and walked over to the elf, kneeling in front of him and peering up into the elf’s face with sheer, malicious joy. “Gryst’lyn Emberdawn is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer that couldn’t yet come. “I knew a friend of yours once. She used to tell me how you were going to storm in and save her at any moment.” He hesitated, as the elf stilled, finally, finally forgetting the fight to free himself. “It was months before she realized you weren’t coming. The look on her face…”

Even as Bloodsworn laughed, Leafless felt like her frozen blood had somehow gotten colder.

It couldn’t be…

This elf knew Liila?

Shit.


	45. A Twist or Two

“Ya’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Sprocket muttered for the nth time, wanting to strangle the unlife out of a few of his travel companions.

They’d been riding so hard to get to Zul’drak and then with a word from Liila, Shadow just turned the group around? How the hell did that make an iota of sense? This was time wasted that they could have been doing something productive, time that they could have spent doing damned near anything other than chaffing their asses on prolonged mount rides.

Sprocket missed the days when he was summoned for the fight and hopped a portal as soon as loot was distributed. This traveling using non-magical means was miserable. 

And the company sucked, too. 

Roberts had been hurt bad by his brother, but even before that, the rogue almost never talked, so pained as he might be, he couldn’t really be down for the count when he was never up for it to begin with. 

And Whisper. For the love of Capitalism, she was such a tree hugger.

No, worse.

She was a human hugger. 

If anything, Roberts’ dirtbag brother should have been proof that humans  _ were  _ assholes in general, and yet Whisper was still on about ‘not all humans’. 

Enough of them were that making broad generalizations wasn’t so bad.

Not to Sprocket. They’d tried to murder him on a whim, destroyed his livelihood, done the same to Tizzle and Wrachette, and now they were breaking Roberts’ heart.

He could tell because the usual disinterested-with-life frown had been replaced by a slightly sadder one.

And the humans were always trying to pick fights in neutral areas. That time at Black Rock Mountain, when they’d gone to help rid the world of terrors, it had been the Alliance—particularly the humans—who had wanted to fight. If Gregor hadn’t been able to reason with the one, it would have been a bloodbath.

The fact that the undead—the lot renowned for not giving a flying fuck about life and all that—cared more about keeping the peace than the humans did said a  _ lot _ .

Granted, Gregor  _ was  _ a bit of an exception himself, but...that wasn’t the point. 

But Whisper wouldn’t see it. She  _ had  _ to insist that the majority of them were decent folk and that the reason their little group stumbled into so many bad ones was because of…

Something.

Sprocket had stopped listening when he’d realized that it was going to be a full-on lecture.

But, it meant that she wasn’t someone he wanted to talk to.

And Shadow was too busy talking to her and coordinating with Liila to be much use, either. 

Apparently, their groups were going to try to meet in Dalaran, since the damned city had relocated for some stupid reason to hover right next to the Lich King’s throne.

Wasn’t Dalaran full of humans? Would the Horde even be welcomed there, or were they heading straight to their deaths, marching along happily as the talkative pair went on about how glad they were that Liila hadn’t been taken by Bloodsworn.

That had been the reason they’d been going to the Ebonblade, apparently. They’d sought to get a bunch of death knights to wreck Bloodsworn’s lab and free any prisoners.

But now that Liila and the others--Sprocket assumed everyone was safe anyway--were fine, suddenly the need for backup had disappeared. 

Weren’t they in Scourge central? Wouldn’t it make sense to have lots of backup anyway?

Even as Sprocket fell to sulking, he felt a hand hit his shoulder and glanced to the side to see Roberts beside him. As he eyed the undead, the man nodded to him. 

“I never said before, but I’m sorry you were hurt. In your own home.” 

There was a rasp that went with his words, one that came from hardly ever speaking, though Sprocket hardly noticed it today. Instead, he was caught off guard by what the rogue had actually said.

Roberts paused a moment before continuing. “I got my two brothers on a cart going south, but I didn’t have enough money to buy all three of us passage. I was trying to scrounge up enough to make the next caravan when the Scourge hit. I tried to hide in the attic, but...the geists got me.” He hesitated before adding. “I’m still uneasy around them, ridiculous as it is.” 

Sprocket felt a twinge of...something in his chest.

A painful constriction, a lack of breath.

He remembered the duo who had come into his shop, smiling and friendly before they’d drawn their weapons.

And even after he’d managed to go invisible, he’d watched them wreck his store, his home, bleeding too badly to do anything to stop them. 

When a hand touched his shoulder again, Sprocket jerked away, staring with wide eyes up at the figure he didn’t recognize for a second.

As he realized he was looking at Roberts, he shuddered. “Enough chitchat. Don’t we got a floatin’ city to get to?”

…-…

Lash hadn’t been able to look at Lisp since he’d read the letter. In fact, he was of a mind that he would never read another letter meant for someone else again.

To think, he’d thought the worst it could be was a love letter. 

Instead, it had been a confession. 

“Alliance, heading up from the south east!” 

Embry’s voice stirred him from his thoughts, and he automatically reached for his bow. 

Even if Impervious didn’t initiate fights with the Alliance, they were always on guard when some came up, careful to show that they would defend themselves, if necessary. 

That was why his stance fell into something somewhat relaxed as soon as he’d drawn his weapon. He nocked an arrow and pointed it toward the ground, bidding Duskeh to stand ready. 

Even as he did so, Taknar stepped up beside him. “Can you take out the lead rider from here?” 

Could he? 

The shot was an easy one, but...but they hadn’t done anything to deserve the attack. Not yet. If they came up and attacked, it would be one thing, but to initiate a bloodbath? 

That…

Another member of their party caught the lead rider with a fireball, and then the rest of them were charging forward. Lash caught the look that Taknar gave him, disapproving and stern.

Even as he wondered if he was digging himself a grave, he felt a reassuring pat on his other shoulder. Kiaga nodded to him once.

“You’re more confident when you’re protecting others.” He felt a wash of relief flood over him, though it was short lived. “It’s alright, though. You’ll get better the more you fight.” 

And with that, she was ahead of him, joining in the fray. 

…-…

Liila jolted awake after another nightmare. Since Blood had adjusted her runes on the Zeppelin, they had been more frequent and worse. Originally, she’d dismissed it as trauma revived from the numb feeling of the runes being shifted and altered. 

These dreams were different, though. Sometimes there were flashes, little tiny details that hadn’t been there before.

She could remember staring at a doorway, waiting, knowing that someone was coming. She could remember being defiant against Bloodsworn, actively fighting him, struggling, screaming.

It didn’t make sense. 

She knew she could only remember as far back as having already given up. 

So these flashes…

Were they real? Were they implanted somehow? Or were they her?

Had that emptiness, that void that had been ever-present for as long as she could remember finally begun to fill?

Haa’aji let out a low hum beside her. When he knew she was aware of him, he leaned his head against hers. “It be alright, mon. We gonna get him.” 

Realizing he’d misunderstood her unease, she picked at her robe, staring out at the forest around them. “I think my memories might be coming back.” 

Haa’aji straightened up, only to slouch again and nudge her with an arm. “Dat be a good ting? Or nah?” 

Her gaze wandered toward the forest floor. It was frustrating because she felt like she’d had this dilemma before. She’d worried that she would change, become someone else, and yet… With a shrug and a sigh, she flopped back onto her bed roll. “I don’t know.” 

…-…

“Skybow…” Cloudless murmured as he stepped up to where his lover had taken a seat in the snow, watching the dragons overhead as they monitored what was left of the nexus. The steer’s ear flicked, the only sign that he’d heard, and Cloudless cringed a little. “We’re being summoned to where Gore and the others are. If you want, Mitchell can send us—”

Skybow rose from where he was sitting and turned, shouldering his pack walking stiffly past where Cloudless stood. Before the question reached his lips, Skybow shook his head. “I told you I’d come out here to help, didn’t I? Let’s go.” 

Despite the tauren’s sure steps as he headed toward the guild, Cloudless couldn’t help but feel that rather than drawing his lover closer, he may have lost him for good. 

With a low, rumbling sigh, he started after Skybow. 

…-...

The fighting between the Horde and Alliance had gotten bad, and quickly. Lash couldn’t fault the Alliance--they were fighting for their lives. 

That didn’t make them any less brutal, though. At every turn, Lash was shooting down someone who was about to get a kill shot. He’d saved Embry thrice, Kiaga and Murk nearly as often. For now, he was staying near Murk, making sure that no one drew close enough to harm their healer.

Despite making sure not to hit anything vital when he did stop someone in their tracks, he was just leaving them open for others to kill.

Their blood might as well have been on his hands. 

Innocent blood.

Well, innocent enough. 

As he turned survey, the field, a shout came from his right, calling for help.

Lash turned to see Lisp had been cornered by two warriors. 

Without thinking, he shot the first one in the arm to slow him and nocked another arrow. However, even as he took aim, the words of that confession rang in his mind.

_ Words cannot express how sorry I am for what I must tell you.  _

The warrior was drawing closer, and it looked like Lisp had taken a hit to one of his legs.

_ Andrew is dead.  _

Someone called for Lash to shoot--Murk.

_ He saw me and...you do not need the details, but he attacked me first, I swear. I was only defending myself, but… _

The second warrior had managed to jerk the arrow out of his arm and was closing in as well.

_ You should know he fell to piracy. He was not the boy you raised.  _

A strange coldness gripped Lash’s heart and he fired.

…-…

“De fuck, mon,” Genji hissed as he sat up in bed, glaring at the foot of it.

With a soft grumble, Khai’rhi lifted her head and glanced down, a frown taking hold of her features. “Ah taught Ah told ya ta put dat ting outside.” 

“Ah did.” 

The two of them stared at one another and then looked slowly toward Fluffy. The sheep stood at the foot of their bed, munching on the bottom of their bedsheet and staring at them with one of the most vacant expressions she’d ever seen on an animal. 

She motioned to the beast, tired. “Den how it be hea? It nah like it got thumbs a nottin’. Ya locked de door, yeah?” 

The animal’s eye twitched.

Genji slowly slipped out of bed and over to the sheep, reaching down tentatively to hoist it up and then headed down stairs. The door was, in fact locked when he got to it, and he quietly marveled at the fact.

However, as he turned to get the keys from upstairs, Fluffy was engulfed in shadows and dropped  _ through  _ Genji’s  arm to the ground before growing solid again.

Genji stared down at the beast for a moment before slowly going back upstairs to get his guildstone. He happened a glance toward the door to see that Fluffy had followed him up as he ignored Khai’rhi’s question as to why the sheep was still in the house and scrawled out a quick message.

_ Mitchell, the fuck did you do to this sheep? _

…-...

“I can’t believe they gave you a name over a lucky shot,” Embry muttered as she stalked past Lash, making a point to hit her shoulder against his. Her mood worsened when Lash didn’t lose his balance. As though to make up for that, she turned on him. “Lisp was a good fighter.” 

“One shot wouldn’t have saved him, anyway,” Kiaga defended. 

“Maybe not, but he probably could have gotten away if your boytoy hadn’t missed them both!” Embry snapped. 

Part of Lash wanted to defend himself, to tell them what Lisp had done, who he had killed. How many trips had Lash watched Gregor peering around from under his helm, searching the crowds for his children, mumbling that with luck, they’d taken to lives of carpentry or something that kept them safely in the cities. 

And to think, all this time he’d been looking for at least one child who was already dead. 

He doubted Embry would be overly sympathetic. 

With a nod to her and then the others, he shouldered his gear and called Duskeh over to him. “I think I’m a bit of a weak link here.” 

“Probably why Impervious dumped you,” Embry hissed. 

Rather than argue, Lash simply nodded. “Maybe. I think I’ll head my own way from here. I wish you all luck in your travels.” 


	46. Not All Heroes Slay Dragons

Gurok had lived in Orgrimmar for most of his life, working diligently as a peon to help build what he felt was surely the most awe inspiring city in all the worlds. Orgrimmar was a point of pride for him, to know that he was one of the many sets of hands that had built it.

To know that it would last the desert storms and march of time…

He had truly done something good with his life.

Aside from that, Gurok’s life was fairly simple. He installed the ever more popular windows into huts, fixed the occasional odd hole or hidden doorway that came undone—the usual.

Most adventurers and warriors never even noticed him, as he was but another face in the crowd, easily dismissed, easily forgotten. And that was fine.

He was content to fix the little things, without ever taking credit.

So if a hearthstone was lost, he’d find the owner and leave it in the mail. Likewise, if someone lost a pet or a piece of gear that was important, he saw that it made it into the right hands.

Truly, as much as the world might like to think that it was heroes who kept it running, it was people like Gurok, not that he ever thought much of it.

The orc had just deposited some lost coin into the mail for a young, weary traveler who’d been crying about the loss over at the inn, when he heard two trolls arguing in hushed voices. The lady troll worked as a chef at the local inn, and she had a sheep in her arms that the other troll was trying to get from her.

“C’mon, mon. Mitchell’ll kill us if we lose dat ting.”

“Dea be sumtin’ wrong wit’ it, ‘n Ah nah havin’ a babe wit’ it around.”

At that, the male troll frowned, tusks making the action all the more pronounced. Gurok stood a little ways off, not watching them directly, but eavesdropping, none-the-less.

“Mitchell said he jus’ need us ta keep ah eye on it fa a few more days befoa he come get it.”

“De damn ting be phasin’ in ‘n out of realiteh! It ain’t safe!”

Their argument circled back and forth a few times before the male troll finally scoffed and said he’d keep their friend’s sheep in the guild hall and stormed off.  

Gurok stood where he was another moment, thinking over their dilemma.

He’d never heard of a sheep that could phase in and out of reality before, but he supposed it took all kinds of things these days. And anyway, there was plenty in this world he didn’t understand.

Never the less, a phasing sheep did seem like a bit of a problem, and he could see the lady troll’s problem with it. What if it phased into them and affected her little one?

Not liking the sound of that, Gurok headed to the only place he could think of that would deal with critters that phased in reality—the Drag.

The warlocks were busy with their usual unholy experiments, cursing one another and whatever poor sap they’d dragged into their domain to play with, but he ignored that. It seemed a little evil to do that sort of thing, but again, the world took all kinds.

Gurok stopped when he found the warlock he was looking for. The orcess was a heartless shrew, but he’d helped her rebuild one of the walls to her home when her felguard had gotten a little swing-happy with its sword, so she’d promised to help him, should the need ever arise.

While it wasn’t exactly for him, he figured this was as good a use as any for his favor owed.

He waited patiently while she wove her latest curse and then, just as he was wondering if he ought to come back later, she turned on him. At first, her eyes were narrowed, fire licking her fingertips as she readied to end whoever would be fool enough to seek her secrets.

However, when she saw it was him, she almost instantly lost interest. “You.”

“Do you know how to bind something so it won’t phase out of reality?”

That gave her pause and she turned slowly to stare at him, slightly bewildered. “Why would you need that?”

Gurok shrugged.

Though she appraised him another moment, wondering if perhaps he was more than a simple peon after all, finally she crossed her arms and cocked her head. “You mean like to keep a voidwalker from shifting back to the nether?”

While he wasn’t quite sure that was what he meant, he figured she knew more about this than he did, so he nodded.

Her brow pinched together. “You want…shackles then?” Another nod. “For what?” A shrug. After a short pause, she finally nodded. “Alright. I can make you shackles. But you’ll need to get me three things. Whatever’s to be the base—a bracelet or necklace or weapon, a gem of some sort to focus the spell through—one for each if you get matching bracelets or something of the sort, and enchanter’s dust—the more you have, the more potent the spell will be.”

With a nod, Gurok turned and left.

He knew not to bother with the auction house—even when there were some deals to be had, he was never quick enough to get them—and instead headed over to the tailoring shop.

Occasionally, when people sold old equipment to the different vendors in town, Gurok carried them here to have them disenchanted, and seeing as he’d assisted them with catching a thief who’d made off with their clothing stands during the ghoul attack. As such, they’d promised him a favor.

This was the way of things for Gurok. While he might not have much in the way of physical belongings, he had a great many connections, without meaning to.

And so he was gifted extra pieces of gear that he took to be disenchanted for the dust. The few essences that came out of it were traded to the master enchanter for a few old earrings he’d had on hand—Gurok figured those would fit a sheep better than anything else.

The gems were easy enough as well. He’d mistakenly stumbled into a fight the other day and saved a more prominent member of the Kor’kron guard, and that guard wanted to make sure things stayed quiet. After all, it would be embarrassing if people knew so elite a warrior was saved by a peon.

The guard was only too happy to shell out for a few sapphires on the market, and then Gurok was back to visit the warlock.

She seemed somewhat dumbfounded that he had managed to gather everything so quickly, and while it stung when she implied he might have stolen a thing or two, he simply shrugged. Arguing would just waste time.

And so it was that he came to own a pair of earrings that would keep a creature phased to this plane of existence.

It took almost no time to find that the trolls in question belonged to the guild Impervious, and seeing as Gurok had helped build their underground guild hall, he easily knew where to go to find the sheep.

It was a pitiful creature, all twitches and the occasional burst of shadows.

“Watcha doin’ down hea, mon?”

“Delivery.” Gurok explained, turning to see the male troll was seated rather grumpily in place. He walked swiftly to him and held out the earrings. “They’re to help with the sheep.”

The troll took the earrings after a moment of inspecting them, brow arched. “Ah…tank ya. Where dis come from?” A shrug. “…Alright den…” He could see the doubt in the troll’s eyes before he finally shrugged and hopped to his feet. “De hell, might as well give dis a shot.”

And with another nod of thanks sent his way, Gurok headed off.

As he walked out of the main room, he nearly collided with the lady troll, who gave him a quizzical look before recognizing him as a peon and remembering her original task. “Genji! We got problems! Mitchell won’ be comin’ fa de sheep because sumtin’ happened ta Leafless!”

As Gurok headed off, he heard her continue in a lower voice, about death knights. That was all he heard as he headed off. Some might have wanted to stay and eavesdrop longer, but he had things to do. His shift would be starting soon—there was always more work to be done—but if he hurried he’d be on time. And even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t so bad.

After all, he liked helping the people who helped the world.


	47. The Thunder Rolls

Thunder.

Each clap rung out like a shock, shaking the world and making everything in it tremble before the unbridled strength that it possessed.

The first time Leafless could remember hearing the thunder had been in the Barrens, in the plains as the tauren wandered, fighting off the quilboar and searching for a permanent home.

A storm had swept up on them from the other side of the mountains, unusual in strength as it reached the plains.

Leafless had been a little thing then, watching the sky fall down around her as her mother and father told her to stay in the tent they’d propped up. She’d sat as close to the edge as she could, the occasional fat rain drop splattering against her snout as she watched what had to be all the water in the world come down, filling in every little crevice and indent in the ground.

The thunder had been what finally sent her inside.

It had cracked open above them, changing night to day and even as she stared up, wide-eyed, her mother had dragged her into the tent, snapping that she needed to rest, that the thunder was nothing to be afraid of.

It scared her, though. No more than the sky falling down to drown the ground.

It had clapped and crackled all night long, and Leafless hadn’t gotten any sleep as she lay there, listening to it, watching the light on the other side of the tent and wondering what those great sounds meant.

In the morning, however, the world had been different.

Water had left everything soaking, and puddles were everywhere in the dry earth, too much to be sucked up by the barren rock below. It had been like another world.

While the adults muttered about soaked rations and equipment, she’d run with a few other children from puddle to puddle, splashing and just rejoicing in the fallen pieces of sky.

The thunder really wasn’t anything to fear, for it brought change.

That’s what she’d decided, and from then on, every time the thunder rolled over her, she’d always gotten restless and giddy, wanting to see what new changes would come with the world.

She’d sometimes hoped that it might extend to other loud noises, too, that sense of wonder.

However, ballistas and catapults, battering rams and spells, the stomping of feet… she could never confuse them with that force of nature.

She revered it so.

She’d considered pursuing a shamanistic path for a time, though she’d ended up deciding that she didn’t want to control that force of change. She could change the world in other ways, and she wanted to still be affected the same by that wondrous sensation, the surprise that came with that deep, rolling vibration.

And that was why, as she lay on that miserable table, tied down with Bloodsworn chattering away about what he was going to do to his new elven pets, that she was so surprised when she heard that rumbling thunder crashing around them.

It was distant—of course it was distant, the walls were so thick it felt like it should have been impossible to hear any storms raging outside.

She’d been tortured, though she couldn’t remember half of it—mercy that—but she knew that death would be a long way coming, if the stories of Bloodsworn’s cruelty held any merit.

He was going to kill the elves and…he’d been talking about swapping parts…

Even as she grimaced, she glanced around and realized that Bloodsworn wasn’t beside her table anymore, though she could still hear him yelling.

She couldn’t make out what.

However, best as she could, she tried to turn her head enough to see the rest of the room, to look for that idiot elf and…the other idiot elf.

Wren’s brother and the one who knew Liila.

She could barely see the former hanging from the wall, strung up by shackles around his wrists. His body was limp, and were it not for the sadistic streak in their captor, she might have feared him dead. The other elf, the agent crusader who’d tried to sneak in, was out of her field of vision.

She let her head rest back against the table, noting absently that the wood wasn’t particularly even.

So he couldn’t spare even the slightest comfort for his captives…

It didn’t surprise her.

Especially if the Lich King was still whispering in Bloodsworn’s head. She could think of more than a few things she’d done that had been unquestionably heinous that had been encouraged and praised by that hateful, nagging voice.

Her world blurred a little.

The next time she heard the thunder, she couldn’t tell how long it had been. Had she blacked out or merely lost a second or two in a blink?

It was impossible to tell.

The thunder was closer, however, and she couldn’t help the small smile that came to her as she wondered what change might be brought with its deep rumbling.

There would be no rain puddles in here, but one could never tell…

Bloodsworn was cursing, but she couldn’t see him, didn’t want to.

The next time that heavy clap sounded, Leafless; eyes opened a bit wider and the world came into better focus.

That was not thunder.

A potion was to her lips, and she blinked as she drank it down and found Roberts putting a finger to his lips as he faded out of sight.

That rumbling from before continued as a dull murmur, occasionally interrupted with loud claps and crashes.

Her lips turned up again as she realized what was happening.

She glanced around to see that Wren’s brother still hung on the wall—his chest was heaving—and she thought she could hear groans that matched the crusader’s voice. There were a few others, as well, though she didn’t look for them, instead catching sight of Bloodsworn pacing near the middle of his lab, swearing up and down and telling what looked like a night elf to go out and ‘take care’ of things.

The runes that flickered on their body made Leafless cringe inwardly, though she did her best to keep from moving about so, even when she felt one of the shackles loosen around her left ankle.

Roberts always had been good with a lock.

…-…

Roberts ducked down behind one of the other tables as a shade patrolled by, glowing eyes sharp and cruel.

Impervious might be on its way, but that didn’t mean that he needed to get careless. If he ended up getting himself—or worse, Leafless or another—killed before the reinforcements arrived…

Leafless had sent out a distress message the day before, and he and his small group had turned away from Zul Drak in a breath, so to speak.

However, it had been Wrachette who had let them know that she, Liila, and Haa’aji were nearby and en route.

How they’d been ‘nearby’ had led to a bit of a debate, along with how they could get over a giant mountain range quickly, but Wrachette had said something about Haa’aji sharing Cloppeteh, and then Haa’aji had trolled the guild stones until they’d dropped it.

Gore and their group had raced to get supplies, some even going back to Orgrimmar—from what Roberts had gathered as he’d watched the green words light up over his stone in quick succession.

It had felt like no time at all before he had felt that familiar tug in the back of his mind, drawing him through the world to another point.

When he arrived, he found Liila, Haa’aji, and Wrachette next to a lock closet that was adorned with a few more skulls than either Timmons or Enlyhn used. He didn’t bother asking who’s it was or how they’d gotten it, instead darting over to summon one of their locks, not wanting to lose the opportunity should the stone go away.

They’d picked a tiny little place, tucked away behind massive, spiky architecture, and Roberts had been more than a little amused as Wrachette nodded him toward a pile of cultist clothes once she saw him.

After all, it wouldn’t make sense to storm the Lich King’s courtyard. The abominations and skeletal giants and wraiths and geists and…there was just too much for them to fight, especially from the inside where they could easily be cornered.

And so instead, they adorned their cultist garb and marched through the courtyard like the other packs of cultists. That they knew exactly where to go didn’t seem to matter to the creatures around them, either.

Honestly, it probably helped.

From there, things had gotten a bit trickier. They’d made it into the building, and blockaded the doors so that others couldn’t follow them in, and then Roberts had been sent to scout ahead.

He would have gone back, had it not been for the fact that someone must have slipped up. When he’d heard the sounds of fighting, he’d shifted his mission.

While he didn’t know much about Bloodsworn, he knew enough that he didn’t trust the man to hold on to his prisoners. What if he killed Leafless and the others just as a middle finger raised to their efforts to save them?

He certainly seemed the sort to do that.

Roberts had nearly lost his temper when he’d seen Leafless lying there, tied to a table, her armor removed and weapon missing. It was the first time he’d been able to see the scars of the wounds that had killed her, and he’d felt a pang of guilt run through him. Such things were not for any eyes to see.

The gouge went through her side, like a hook—an abomination’s likely—and he found his own hand going to his shoulder, where he’d been bitten as he tried to retreat from the encroaching hordes.

He’d thought the undead would eat him, but some other farmers had managed to kill the damned thing.

And then they’d left him, saying he was too far gone and that he’d just slow them down.

They hadn’t even been a merciful lot.

He’d paid them a visit near their camp at the wall around Gilneas, before he’d come into Sylvanas’ service.

The shade was gone, and he slipped back over to leafless, working at the rest of her shackles quickly and quietly, keeping an eye on the undead in the room. He’d get her loose and in the very least give her a tabard to cover her old wounds with, as he couldn’t see where her armor had been taken to.

He’d just unlocked the last of her shackles when he felt her fingers against his wrist. “The others…”

Before she could finish her sentence, an impossibly loud rumbling crack hit the door to the laboratory.

…-…

As fragments of stone rained down from the splintered door, Gore didn’t even wait for Shadow to finish putting his hoof down, instead pushing through with Howl and Blood. Tizzle’s shields caught the few spells that whizzed toward them, and even as he stalked into the room, arrows and spells were already countering the attack, with shades and wraiths falling in quick succession.

Bloodsworn was not the most dangerous or the most far reaching of the Lich King’s minions, but he was the one who had hurt those closest to Gore, and he was sure that he would make the bastard pay.

His old bones ached, but he’d made himself a promise when they’d formed the guild, that he would take care of his own, and ending Bloodsworn would be making good on that promise.

To save Leafless, to help Shadow settle the score between them, to let Liila rest at night knowing that her torturer was finally no more, to pay back the attack on Orgrimmar.

Bloodsworn had a lot to answer for.

Gore let the others gather up the minions around the room, instead locking gazes with Bloodsworn and charging him.

Zereesa was back in Orgrimmar, unable to face the creature that had tormented her so. The elven druid that had been sent after them had been given safe passage to Gadgetzan. When they’d saved the elf by cutting through the runes that bound him to service, he’d fallen weeping, and they’d all been surprised when Sprocket had offered the portal, no strings attached, no concern for what his former cartel might say.

Whisper had been the most surprised, and yet, she hadn’t said a word.

And now…

When Gore’s axe clashed with Bloodsworn’s blade, he ignored the pain in his shoulder. He would not let this creature hurt anyone else, Horde or Alliance.

…-…

Everything was so…surreal.

The light from the spells, the sparks from blades clashing and catching on armor. It was a cacophony of battle, and yet, Liila couldn’t hear any of it. She knew she was helping with the fight, sending shadow words and darkness toward the monster who had taken her life from her, and yet…

None of it seemed real.

She could remember lying on that table, his power absolute, her life nothing but an endless nightmare. She could remember every time he’d found her, every time he’d proven that he hadn’t forgotten her, that no place was beyond his reach.

She could remember that awful tug of the runes he had carved into her, and the way she had felt that connection to him at the most awful of times. Sitting around a campfire with friends, watching the stars overhead on a foreign continent, soaking feet in a stream as new friends told wild stories.

He had always been there, in the back of her mind, a reminder that she would never truly be free, no matter how outrageous her antics. She could jump of cliffs, fight devilsaurs, kill gods, but he would always be there, waiting for the time to take her freedom away again.

And yet here they were.

With every crack that slithered across his armor, every moment he was knocked from his feet with a well-timed shield bash, every cut and bruise that discolored his rotten skin, she could feel that helplessness slipping away.

When he tried to fall back on her, tried to activate her runes to make her heal him, she couldn’t help the smile that stretched her lips.

Blood had made sure that he wouldn’t be able to take away her will again.

All of her friends had. In every adventure to every corner of the earth, dismantling that wretched curse, piece by piece.

As he tried to force her to heal him again, she stood up a little straighter, casting a heal instead on Gore, and smiling outright when her tormentor realized she was his no more.

It made him pause, eyes wide, rage burning in that hateful blue, as he realized that he had truly lost everything.

And then, even as he started to recoup,

A blade sliced into his throat, and then his head was spinning through the air.

It hit the ground once before Leafless caught it under her hoof and stomped with the finality that Liila had never expected to come.

Bloodsworn was dead.

Liila was finally free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Hopefully I'll be able to finish the last three chapters a bit quicker.


	48. Dalaran

“Shouldn’t someone get her to…stop?”

Skybow shifted uncomfortably as Liiila lifted her staff and slammed it down on Bloodsworn’s corpse. Again.

And again.

And, well…

She’d been beating the damned thing for the last five minutes, swearing in almost a dozen different languages, and occasionally breaking out into maniacal laughter that had him worried the little elf might search for something else to take her fury out on.

At the tauren’s unease, Haa’aji glanced over his shoulder, shrugged, and scratched the back of his neck as he watched her slam her staff down again. “Nah, mon. Dis be catha’tic fa her, yeh? He been a dick fa a long, long time.”

“Kinda wish she’d give me a few thwacks,” Shadow offered offhandedly, leaning against the wall as he watching their shadow priest with an unnerving approval.

Skybow had noticed more than a few of the members of the guild seemed to live in a morally gray area, and he had been concerned when he’d seen how easily they’d joked about sacrifices and the like on the way in, as they stormed the lab.

Cloudless, however, had been one of the few occasional voices of reason, whenever the jokes threatened to go too far.

It had made him proud, and it had hurt at the same time.

He’d always been jealous of this life that Cloudless lived, but he’d never really expected it to be…so much more than he’d been told. He’d thought they traveled, did a few quests, saved a few lives…

But for them to be Anonymous and for everything to be _so_ dangerous…

He wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

“Me, too.”

The words took Skybow by surprise, and he had to glance around to find the speaker after he’d shaken off his earlier thoughts.

Standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Tizzle, a small gnome with a few half-healed scars along her face and shoulders stood there, gaze focused on Liila, the orange iris in her good eye following the elf’s movements as she beat the corpse to the point that it would have to be an ooze if it was ever brought back again.

Cloudless cast another heal on the gnome, in time with Tizzle, and the worst of the scars faded, a few lesser ones disappearing completely.

They’d been doing that for Bloodsworn’s other…test subjects or experiments or…whatever they were…since they’d managed to free them.

During the fighting, Roberts and Blood had stayed out of it, freeing every one of them, both from their shackles and from the runes that controlled them. They’d made sure that none of Bloodsworn’s calls for aide were answered, without making the ones he’d hurt so badly suffer for their misfortune.

Most of them had begged to go home, not caring about the scars left on them, so long as they could get out of that hellish place. Even with their short time with the guild, however, the healers had done quick work to patch them up before they disappeared through mage portals.

Only the little gnome had stayed, a mage who had sent the Alliance injured home. Skybow felt guilty about that elven druid getting sent to some goblin town, considering if they’d kept him around for another twenty minutes, he could have been sent to Darnasus.

However, he supposed those twenty minutes would have dragged on for an eternity for that elf, had they attempted to keep him.

“I don’t want to rush anyone,” the gnome spoke softly, good eye still moving in time with the swings of Liila’s staff, “but it’s not exactly safe to stay here.” She paused, shifting her weight a little and peered up at the Horde members around her. “The whole lot of you…you’re a good sort, you know? If you’re here to do more than take out a mad scientist or two…”

“We are,” Howl murmured, voice soft and common a little uneven as he spoke.

“Well, the best way outta here is a portal,” the gnome continued, motioning around them. “But I’m guessing you all would end up back in Kalimdor or somewhere pretty far off?”

At that, Howl nudged Sprocket, who was the only one of their mages who hadn’t taken to pilfering all of Bloodsworn’s supplies. “Is she right?”

When Sprocket was caught up and nodded a little glumly, the gnome hopped in place, despite the worn look on her face. “Well, how would you like a portal to Dalaran?”

…-…

Sethyl walked slowly over to where Liila sat, absentmindedly twisting a few buds off a plant he had no name for. When he saw her ear twitch and knew she’d heard him coming, he picked up his pace and moved to sit beside her.

He wasn’t sure what could have been done differently, but he felt that they shouldn’t have let her just…keep attacking her tormentor’s corpse like that. On the one hand, it had let out a lot of pent up rage that she’d obviously been dealing with, but…

“If you’re looking for health potions, then it’s going to be a while.”

Her voice was soft, but there was a little bit of fluctuation in it.

Settling into the chair next to her, he peered at her, not bothering to hide his worry. “I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.”

In the end, when almost everyone had gone through the portal, Haa’aji had just shouldered her when she refused to stop her attack—there had been another elf there who had tried to talk to her, but she’d ignored him, too focused on her task—and sprinted through the portal.

“I’m not.”

She snapped a bud in half as she jerked it off its stem too harshly and then hesitated before setting it down on the table she was at. They’d come to one of the inns in Dalaran, one that was in neutral territory so that Liila wouldn’t be off on her own while the rest of the guild caught up with the Horde members who were already present.

They were on a balcony overlooking the street below and Sethyl couldn’t help but be taken aback by how…picturesque it looked. The cobblestones were neat and well-tended, the store windows were bright, the shop doors open and inviting. There were even well trimmed, grassy areas off to one side in what looked like a small park of sorts.

And then there was all that magic, that whispered essence that elves were so in-tune with.

It was like the Scourge had never marched across the land, like Silvermoon hadn’t crumbled.

It was easy to forget, if only for a moment or two, that all the terrible things that had passed were real.

“I will be, though.”

Even as Sethyl blinked out of his thoughts, surprised, she gave him a small smile. “I don’t…know that I’ll ever fully believe that he’s really gone, but…I think I can accept that he can’t reach me anymore.”

Sethyl’s brow pinched together as he watched her go back to her work, trying to understand how she could have beaten a body to such a bloody pulp and still not believe that it was dead. However, before he could find the words to ask, or even decide if he should, there was a sharp knock at the door and they both looked up to see Shadow step inside.

“Liila, if you have a minute, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

The tauren nodded to Sethyl, and he gave Liila a quick smile and assurance he would watch over her stuff as she rose and slipped out after Shadow.

…-…

“See, it’ll stay right here.”

Shadow ignored the small cluster of death knights and other undead who had crowded around hall in the necropolis to inspect the living priestess who’d been allowed to set foot in their home.

Bloodsworn’s runeblade hung on the wall there, where Shadow had once been on display, heavy chains holding it’s cracked form to the wall.

There was something so damned satisfying about that. Shadow almost wished that Bloodsworn himself could have been hung up there, on meathooks as he had been, but this was just as good. After all, the bastard was gone, and the only reminders of him were those that showed how he had been crushed, so completely.

“What if someone takes it?” Liila’s voice was soft, even. He and every other undead could smell the fear in her, though.

Even as he pretended not to notice, Blood shrugged. “A death knight’s blades whisper to them, so they wouldn’t take kindly to having a new voice in their master’s head.”

Leafless tugged on one of the chains to make sure it would stay in place and then turned back to Liila, where she stood between Blood and Shadow, like some tiny, fragile creature. “And if anyone who isn’t a death knight tries to take it, the blade will get in their head and destroy them.”

It had been somewhat of a group effort to get that damned blade to the Ebonhold, and they’d pretended not to notice the arched eyebrows and curious murmurs from their fellow death knights as they brought the weapon back.

No doubt the highlord had heard about their guest by now.

Worst case, one of them would conjure a death gate back to Dalaran’s sewers and shove Liila through before any harsh words could be had.

Or before she could troll the highlord.

Blood didn’t think she would, as she was rather unnerved by death knights she wasn’t familiar with, but Shadow knew her better than that. She was a terror in her own right, and he didn’t want her starting something with someone quite so powerful.

That would bring Haa’aji to the necropolis.

And if there was one thing they didn’t need here, in their flying fortress, it was him.

“We’ll smuggle you in to see it again, if you need to,” Blood offered, voice low enough that the onlookers around them couldn’t hear. “Anytime you need a reminder that he’s gone.”

…-….

As Timmons rounded the corner, he nearly walked into a human woman who was so busy arguing with the Dalaran guard that rather than regard him with the usual repressed disdain, she shrieked when she caught his visage in the corner of her eye.

He made a point of giving her a look that said he thought she was an idiot before smiling thinly to the guard and making a point of walking around them and back to his predetermined path.

However, even as he idly considered how well the mages here might pick up on curses and how quickly they might figure out who had cast them, he happened to hear part of the conversation, and found himself slowing down despite himself.

“Ms. Smithson, I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t you Ms. Smithson me!” The young lady snapped. Timmons sauntered over to a nearby stairway that led into a shop and did his best to loiter casually. The human woman was waving a note in front of her, gesticulating wildly. “Someone sent my mother a damned note saying that my brother died a hero and that my father _is_ one! Like he’s not _dead_ , like we _know_ he _is_! I don’t know how she figured out the letter came from Dalaran, but… She’s missing. And I’d bet anything she’s come this way looking for the source of this stupid letter or worse, for _Dad_!”

Her voice broke on the last word. Even as Timmons fought the urge to shuffle a little closer to hear, the guard noticed him and gave him a withering look as he tried to comfort the young woman.

Pulling off another bored expression with complete and utter ease, Timmons turned and began away from the arguing duo, hearing the woman whimper as he drew out of reach, “It broke her _so_ completely when we lost him…it’s _cruel_ to give her hope now…”

Something about the girl was…familiar. He couldn’t really place what, but…

He was fairly certain he’d never met her before. Her clothes suggested she was a mage, and an Alliance one, not one from Dalaran.

He’d set everyone in Stromgarde alight, hadn’t left survivors in his wake in years…and, well…

Even as he turned another corner and saw a few of his guildmates heading into the inn, he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening. He’d been ready to ask if any of them knew the mage, thinking how he’d describe her to them, when his mind had gone back to her name.

Smithson.

A hand abruptly jerked his hood lower onto his face, and he flailed his arms as he fought off his attacker and righted his hood. When the fabric was back to casting just the right amount of shadow over his face, he turned an annoyed and glowing gaze toward Haa’aji. A curse died just short of his lips when he noticed a patrolling mage pause to eye him.

“Genji say de sheep be actin’ weird, yeh?”

Timmons stood a little straighter and made sure his frown was as pronounced as could be without falling into a full sneer. “What are you on about?”

“Mitchell’s Fluffeh. It been doin’ weird stuff.” The troll nodded his chin toward Timmons. “So?”

“So?”

“Ya got nehttin’ weird wit’ ya?”

Timmons motioned toward the inn with a boney hand. “If there is a problem, I’ll let Mitchell know.”

As he spoke, though, he couldn’t help but run back through the events that had happened since he’d been blown up in Orgrimmar. _Had_ anything strange happened?

“Well, ah been wonda’in’, since ya jus’ stoppin’ in de middle o’ de street ‘n all.”

“That…” Timmons started to dismiss the troll’s concern—assuming it could actually be concern—and shook his head. “I…I think Gregor’s daughter and wife are here.”


	49. Dalaran

“Shouldn’t someone get her to…stop?”

Skybow shifted uncomfortably as Liiila lifted her staff and slammed it down on Bloodsworn’s corpse. Again.

And again.

And, well…

She’d been beating the damned thing for the last five minutes, swearing in almost a dozen different languages, and occasionally breaking out into maniacal laughter that had him worried the little elf might search for something else to take her fury out on.

At the tauren’s unease, Haa’aji glanced over his shoulder, shrugged, and scratched the back of his neck as he watched her slam her staff down again. “Nah, mon. Dis be catha’tic fa her, yeh? He been a dick fa a long, long time.”

“Kinda wish she’d give me a few thwacks,” Shadow offered offhandedly, leaning against the wall as he watching their shadow priest with an unnerving approval.

Skybow had noticed more than a few of the members of the guild seemed to live in a morally gray area, and he had been concerned when he’d seen how easily they’d joked about sacrifices and the like on the way in, as they stormed the lab.

Cloudless, however, had been one of the few occasional voices of reason, whenever the jokes threatened to go too far.

It had made him proud, and it had hurt at the same time.

He’d always been jealous of this life that Cloudless lived, but he’d never really expected it to be…so much more than he’d been told. He’d thought they traveled, did a few quests, saved a few lives…

But for them to be Anonymous and for everything to be _so_ dangerous…

He wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

“Me, too.”

The words took Skybow by surprise, and he had to glance around to find the speaker after he’d shaken off his earlier thoughts.

Standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Tizzle, a small gnome with a few half-healed scars along her face and shoulders stood there, gaze focused on Liila, the orange iris in her good eye following the elf’s movements as she beat the corpse to the point that it would have to be an ooze if it was ever brought back again.

Cloudless cast another heal on the gnome, in time with Tizzle, and the worst of the scars faded, a few lesser ones disappearing completely.

They’d been doing that for Bloodsworn’s other…test subjects or experiments or…whatever they were…since they’d managed to free them.

During the fighting, Roberts and Blood had stayed out of it, freeing every one of them, both from their shackles and from the runes that controlled them. They’d made sure that none of Bloodsworn’s calls for aide were answered, without making the ones he’d hurt so badly suffer for their misfortune.

Most of them had begged to go home, not caring about the scars left on them, so long as they could get out of that hellish place. Even with their short time with the guild, however, the healers had done quick work to patch them up before they disappeared through mage portals.

Only the little gnome had stayed, a mage who had sent the Alliance injured home. Skybow felt guilty about that elven druid getting sent to some goblin town, considering if they’d kept him around for another twenty minutes, he could have been sent to Darnasus.

However, he supposed those twenty minutes would have dragged on for an eternity for that elf, had they attempted to keep him.

“I don’t want to rush anyone,” the gnome spoke softly, good eye still moving in time with the swings of Liila’s staff, “but it’s not exactly safe to stay here.” She paused, shifting her weight a little and peered up at the Horde members around her. “The whole lot of you…you’re a good sort, you know? If you’re here to do more than take out a mad scientist or two…”

“We are,” Howl murmured, voice soft and common a little uneven as he spoke.

“Well, the best way outta here is a portal,” the gnome continued, motioning around them. “But I’m guessing you all would end up back in Kalimdor or somewhere pretty far off?”

At that, Howl nudged Sprocket, who was the only one of their mages who hadn’t taken to pilfering all of Bloodsworn’s supplies. “Is she right?”

When Sprocket was caught up and nodded a little glumly, the gnome hopped in place, despite the worn look on her face. “Well, how would you like a portal to Dalaran?”

…-…

Sethyl walked slowly over to where Liila sat, absentmindedly twisting a few buds off a plant he had no name for. When he saw her ear twitch and knew she’d heard him coming, he picked up his pace and moved to sit beside her.

He wasn’t sure what could have been done differently, but he felt that they shouldn’t have let her just…keep attacking her tormentor’s corpse like that. On the one hand, it had let out a lot of pent up rage that she’d obviously been dealing with, but…

“If you’re looking for health potions, then it’s going to be a while.”

Her voice was soft, but there was a little bit of fluctuation in it.

Settling into the chair next to her, he peered at her, not bothering to hide his worry. “I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.”

In the end, when almost everyone had gone through the portal, Haa’aji had just shouldered her when she refused to stop her attack—there had been another elf there who had tried to talk to her, but she’d ignored him, too focused on her task—and sprinted through the portal.

“I’m not.”

She snapped a bud in half as she jerked it off its stem too harshly and then hesitated before setting it down on the table she was at. They’d come to one of the inns in Dalaran, one that was in neutral territory so that Liila wouldn’t be off on her own while the rest of the guild caught up with the Horde members who were already present.

They were on a balcony overlooking the street below and Sethyl couldn’t help but be taken aback by how…picturesque it looked. The cobblestones were neat and well-tended, the store windows were bright, the shop doors open and inviting. There were even well trimmed, grassy areas off to one side in what looked like a small park of sorts.

And then there was all that magic, that whispered essence that elves were so in-tune with.

It was like the Scourge had never marched across the land, like Silvermoon hadn’t crumbled.

It was easy to forget, if only for a moment or two, that all the terrible things that had passed were real.

“I will be, though.”

Even as Sethyl blinked out of his thoughts, surprised, she gave him a small smile. “I don’t…know that I’ll ever fully believe that he’s really gone, but…I think I can accept that he can’t reach me anymore.”

Sethyl’s brow pinched together as he watched her go back to her work, trying to understand how she could have beaten a body to such a bloody pulp and still not believe that it was dead. However, before he could find the words to ask, or even decide if he should, there was a sharp knock at the door and they both looked up to see Shadow step inside.

“Liila, if you have a minute, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

The tauren nodded to Sethyl, and he gave Liila a quick smile and assurance he would watch over her stuff as she rose and slipped out after Shadow.

…-…

“See, it’ll stay right here.”

Shadow ignored the small cluster of death knights and other undead who had crowded around hall in the necropolis to inspect the living priestess who’d been allowed to set foot in their home.

Bloodsworn’s runeblade hung on the wall there, where Shadow had once been on display, heavy chains holding it’s cracked form to the wall.

There was something so damned satisfying about that. Shadow almost wished that Bloodsworn himself could have been hung up there, on meathooks as he had been, but this was just as good. After all, the bastard was gone, and the only reminders of him were those that showed how he had been crushed, so completely.

“What if someone takes it?” Liila’s voice was soft, even. He and every other undead could smell the fear in her, though.

Even as he pretended not to notice, Blood shrugged. “A death knight’s blades whisper to them, so they wouldn’t take kindly to having a new voice in their master’s head.”

Leafless tugged on one of the chains to make sure it would stay in place and then turned back to Liila, where she stood between Blood and Shadow, like some tiny, fragile creature. “And if anyone who isn’t a death knight tries to take it, the blade will get in their head and destroy them.”

It had been somewhat of a group effort to get that damned blade to the Ebonhold, and they’d pretended not to notice the arched eyebrows and curious murmurs from their fellow death knights as they brought the weapon back.

No doubt the highlord had heard about their guest by now.

Worst case, one of them would conjure a death gate back to Dalaran’s sewers and shove Liila through before any harsh words could be had.

Or before she could troll the highlord.

Blood didn’t think she would, as she was rather unnerved by death knights she wasn’t familiar with, but Shadow knew her better than that. She was a terror in her own right, and he didn’t want her starting something with someone quite so powerful.

That would bring Haa’aji to the necropolis.

And if there was one thing they didn’t need here, in their flying fortress, it was him.

“We’ll smuggle you in to see it again, if you need to,” Blood offered, voice low enough that the onlookers around them couldn’t hear. “Anytime you need a reminder that he’s gone.”

…-….

As Timmons rounded the corner, he nearly walked into a human woman who was so busy arguing with the Dalaran guard that rather than regard him with the usual repressed disdain, she shrieked when she caught his visage in the corner of her eye.

He made a point of giving her a look that said he thought she was an idiot before smiling thinly to the guard and making a point of walking around them and back to his predetermined path.

However, even as he idly considered how well the mages here might pick up on curses and how quickly they might figure out who had cast them, he happened to hear part of the conversation, and found himself slowing down despite himself.

“Ms. Smithson, I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t you Ms. Smithson me!” The young lady snapped. Timmons sauntered over to a nearby stairway that led into a shop and did his best to loiter casually. The human woman was waving a note in front of her, gesticulating wildly. “Someone sent my mother a damned note saying that my brother died a hero and that my father _is_ one! Like he’s not _dead_ , like we _know_ he _is_! I don’t know how she figured out the letter came from Dalaran, but… She’s missing. And I’d bet anything she’s come this way looking for the source of this stupid letter or worse, for _Dad_!”

Her voice broke on the last word. Even as Timmons fought the urge to shuffle a little closer to hear, the guard noticed him and gave him a withering look as he tried to comfort the young woman.

Pulling off another bored expression with complete and utter ease, Timmons turned and began away from the arguing duo, hearing the woman whimper as he drew out of reach, “It broke her _so_ completely when we lost him…it’s _cruel_ to give her hope now…”

Something about the girl was…familiar. He couldn’t really place what, but…

He was fairly certain he’d never met her before. Her clothes suggested she was a mage, and an Alliance one, not one from Dalaran.

He’d set everyone in Stromgarde alight, hadn’t left survivors in his wake in years…and, well…

Even as he turned another corner and saw a few of his guildmates heading into the inn, he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening. He’d been ready to ask if any of them knew the mage, thinking how he’d describe her to them, when his mind had gone back to her name.

Smithson.

A hand abruptly jerked his hood lower onto his face, and he flailed his arms as he fought off his attacker and righted his hood. When the fabric was back to casting just the right amount of shadow over his face, he turned an annoyed and glowing gaze toward Haa’aji. A curse died just short of his lips when he noticed a patrolling mage pause to eye him.

“Genji say de sheep be actin’ weird, yeh?”

Timmons stood a little straighter and made sure his frown was as pronounced as could be without falling into a full sneer. “What are you on about?”

“Mitchell’s Fluffeh. It been doin’ weird stuff.” The troll nodded his chin toward Timmons. “So?”

“So?”

“Ya got nehttin’ weird wit’ ya?”

Timmons motioned toward the inn with a boney hand. “If there is a problem, I’ll let Mitchell know.”

As he spoke, though, he couldn’t help but run back through the events that had happened since he’d been blown up in Orgrimmar. _Had_ anything strange happened?

“Well, ah been wonda’in’, since ya jus’ stoppin’ in de middle o’ de street ‘n all.”

“That…” Timmons started to dismiss the troll’s concern—assuming it could actually be concern—and shook his head. “I…I think Gregor’s daughter and wife are here.”


End file.
